How To Be Dead
by emmbrancsxx0
Summary: Merlin has waited for Arthur too long, and has turned to drugs to ease the pain and loneliness. Now that Arthur's back, he can stop any time he wants. Only, he doesn't want to.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: **Merlin has waited for Arthur too long, and has turned to drugs to ease the pain and loneliness. Now that Arthur's back, he can stop any time he wants. Only, he doesn't want to.  
**Rating:** M [drugs, sex, violence]  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own BBC's Merlin or its characters but, gosh darn it, I sure do love them!

**Chapter One.**

He started because it made him feel alive again. That was a blessing, because the most recent century left him feeling hollow—like he had faded into the fabric of the world and simply became part of its scenery. All he did was go through the motions of day after day, year after unrelenting year. He was tired of feeling nothing at all, and welcomed any bliss or joy or pain. It was mostly pain.

But then it became _too _painful, and he no longer did it to feel alive. He did it to numb the pain, to rid himself of the longing and the loneliness that he could not shake otherwise. He did it to forget.

To forget Arthur.

Now that Arthur was back, he promised himself—he promised Arthur—that he could stop. This wasn't something he needed, after all. It was merely something he had become accustomed to. But he didn't stop—not when he recalled all he'd seen and all he'd done in his long life. Not when the original pain of losing Arthur had festered for centuries, and taken on a life of its own.

Merlin sat up in bed before uncaringly throwing the sheets off of him and getting to his feet. There was a shock of cold against his bare flesh at first, but he quickly located his clothes on the other end of the room and hastily yet stealthily slipped into them with shaking hands.

The blonde haired man still in bed gave a groan, and Merlin's heart skipped a beat. He held his breath, silently praying that the man would simply roll over and start snoring again, as Merlin watched him out of the corner of his eyes, completely motionless. The lump of blankets on the bed did not move either, and after a moment Merlin was satisfied he was still sleeping.

What was his name again?

John? Jeffrey? Something with a J, anyway.

He wasn't Arthur. That's what really mattered; but he had blonde hair and blue eyes—grayish blue, albeit—and, more importantly, he had a balloon of heroin on the nightstand. Merlin pocketed it, and then gently shut the main door of the flat behind him.

The sun was brighter than he would have liked it to be, and he was in a bad neighborhood, but he was home free. He'd never had to see J-Something again and, if he did, he didn't expect J-Something would be too welcoming, since Merlin had just nicked his drugs.

Merlin shoved his hand into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out the small, plastic wrapped smack. He rolled it around in his fingers, contemplating if it was worth going home. Arthur would know where he was all night—what he was doing. Arthur always knew. But Merlin had nowhere else to go.

However, he knew he needed a small bit of courage—just a boost, if anything—to get through the argument to come. He ripped open the top part of the bag and poured some of the coarse powder into his palm. He had no means of shooting up right then and there, in an alley outside of an estate. For a moment, he considered knocking on J-Something's door to ask for a syringe, but reasoned that would be pushing his luck. No, he would just have to bump it.

Quickly, almost hungrily, he brought his palm up to his nostrils and breathed in the powder. It made him shutter down his spine, and he could taste iron in his throat. He could have sworn he felt a nosebleed coming on—which is why he hated snorting—but it was worth it. He could already feel himself relaxing, and the twitch in his hand ceased. His eyes flashes gold involuntarily and the world seemed to go into a haze, like he wasn't quite a part of it anymore but rather only watching. He let the sensation take over, but didn't know for long.

Contented, he shoved the balloon back into his pocket and headed for home.

* * *

He was parched by the time he snuck in through the door of the flat, and the first thing he did was run to the fridge for a bottle of cold water, which Arthur recently kept in stock. The rest of the flat seemed to be empty, and Merlin thought he was alone until he heard the bathroom door open, followed by the pitter-patter of Arthur's bare feet against the hardwood floor.

Arthur's hair was damp as he entered the kitchen, and his big blue eyes seemed almost shocked as they met Merlin's. Merlin took in Arthur's freshly showered form, eyeing him up and down happily. He was the one who had taught him how to shower. Arthur had come a long way in eighteen months.

However, Arthur wasn't regarding Merlin with the same pleasure.

"You didn't come home last night," Arthur said, trying to keep his voice even, but Merlin could hear the rage building behind his words.

_Here we go_, Merlin thought, wishing Arthur would just leave it alone for once. Honestly, it wasn't as though Merlin could ever die from an overdose—and he'd tried. It wasn't as though Merlin could die, period. So, what was wrong with a little indulgence? He didn't know why Arthur was so concerned.

"Uh, no," Merlin said, wiping the loose dribbles of water off his lips with his sleeve. "Got held up," he said vaguely, moving towards Arthur and leaning in to kiss him. Arthur flinched away, and Merlin glared at him for a moment before letting it go and pecking Arthur's cheek sweetly. Not even Arthur's attitude could ruin his mood. Not today.

"What was his name?" Arthur said scornfully, and Merlin pulled away with a moan.

"Oh, leave it, would you?"

"Did he give you any?" Arthur asked, and Merlin knew there was no use in playing dumb. They'd had this conversation one too many times for that. "Do you have it with you now?"

Merlin rolled his eyes and fled the kitchen, trying to escape down the corridor to the bedroom, but Arthur paced after him.

"Merlin! Where are you going?"

"To get changed!" Merlin snapped. "I've got work soon."

"You're already three hours late for work," Arthur informed him before adding, unnecessarily, Merlin thought, "Again."

Merlin grinned and unbuttoned his shirt. "Then I suppose there's no point in going at all," he said, wriggling a brow to Arthur. "I've got nowhere to be." He closed the gap between them and ran his lips along Arthur's jaw line, tasting the sweetness of Arthur's soap. "We could stay in bed all day."

"Merlin, you smell worse than a horse's backside," Arthur quipped. Arthur said the funniest things sometimes; things that reminded Merlin of the old days.

"Mmm," Merlin grumbled. "Then how do you feel about another shower?"

He moved to slide his hand up the front of Arthur's shirt, but Arthur grabbed him at the wrist tightly. Merlin let out a howl, but Arthur didn't let go until he reached his other hand into Merlin's pocket and pulled out the pouch of heroin.

"It's open," Arthur said incredulously. Merlin went to snatch it from him, but Arthur jerked it out of his reach.

"That's mine!" Merlin shouted.

"And now it's the toilet's," Arthur answered. Before the response could fully register in Merlin's mind, Arthur was running full speed down the corridor towards the bathroom.

"No!" Merlin called after him, and took off in a sprint. "Arthur, don't!" But it was too late: by the time he reached the door, Arthur had already flushed the precious powder, and the toilet gave an almost deafening roar as it settled.

"No!" Merlin screamed again as he slid to his knees next to the bowl. He attempted to will the heroin back to him with magic, but it was no use. It was already gone. He looked up at Arthur with a mixture of desperation and hate in his violet eyes. "What'd you go and do that for?" he demanded.

Arthur was looking very smug, indeed. "It's for your own good, Merlin. You'll thank me some day." He exited the bathroom, and Merlin gaped after him.

"I'll _thank_—?" He blinked.

After a moment or two of gaping and blinking, Merlin followed Arthur back into the kitchen, where Arthur was attempting to make himself a pot of coffee, even though he hadn't yet fully mastered the coffee machine and frequently forgot to refill it with water.

"This should wake you up," he was saying, busying himself with the coffee beans. "And hopefully open your eyes."

Merlin scoffed, and he plopped into the chair at the table. "You can barely make a mug of coffee without burning it," he grumbled. "What would _you_ know about anything?"

"Lots," Arthur told him airily. "I read about drug addiction on Goggle. Heroin really is quite bad for you, Merlin."

Merlin rubbed his bloodshot eyes in frustration. He really did hate the Internet sometimes. "_Google_, Arthur. Google."

Arthur waved it away. "All the same." He placed a mug of steaming liquid in front of Merlin, but Merlin nudged it away. "You're no good to me strung out all the time."

"Oh, would you like me to polish your armor, _sire_?" Merlin said through his teeth, and Arthur raised a brow, holding his ground.

"You know what I mean."

Merlin just rolled his eyes viciously.

Arthur nonchalantly took a sip of his coffee. "Well, if you're not going to work today, the least you can do is go to the shop. We're out of just about everything."

Merlin crinkled his nose. "Why can't you?"

"I've got a match today," Arthur said. He'd been team captain of a pub league for nearly five months now. He looked at Merlin hopefully. "You can come watch us play, if you'd like."

Merlin didn't much feel like doing Arthur any favors right now. He shrugged. "Where?"

"The park."

Merlin took a sip of coffee to bide himself some time. However, after a long swallow, he still couldn't think of a good excuse to get out of it. Usually, the park was a lovely place to be—simply a wonderful place for scoring, but he didn't suppose it would be the same in broad daylight on a Sunday afternoon.

"I'd rather go beg to keep my job," he grumbled.

Arthur's face fell. He placed his unfinished coffee in the sink and started off. "Fine," he said curtly before disappearing into the main room and down the corridor. "Good luck with that. Not all employers are as generous as I was."

"Yeah, but I don't sleep with all my employers, do I?" Merlin called back.

"Good to know!" came the distant response, and Merlin folded his arms on the tabletop and slammed his head down on top of them tiredly.

* * *

"What do you mean, _fired_?"

Jonathan crossed his legs atop the crowded desk in his cupboard of an office. "This is the fourth day in a row you've been late," he said, a slight Eastern accent in his tone. "I suppose I'm lucky you've showed up at all. Jill has been covering half your shifts."

Merlin scoffed. "_Jill_? She's barely worked a day in her life! I can't even see why she has this job; her dad gives her enough money each week to buy a condo in Florida!" He'd know. He'd stolen from her wallet enough times after a quickie in the storage room; she never even noticed the money was gone.

He leaned in and placed his palms flat on the desk. "I need the money, sir."

Jonathan simply shrugged. "I'm sorry, Merlin. You've taken advantage of us one too many times."

Merlin grumbled something under his breath, and his eyes flashed golden. Really, he was above this—honestly, he was; but desperate times…

He turned his eyes back on his manager, who was suddenly sitting erect in his chair, staring off into space.

"I wasn't late today," Merlin told him very matter-of-factly. "I've been here all day. And I haven't been late for a shift at all this week."

He stood up straight and Jonathan shook the dazed look from his eyes.

"Merlin?" he asked, sounding confused. "I didn't hear you come in. Is there something you need?"

Merlin gave him a charming grin. "Actually, sir, I haven't gotten my paycheck this week and, well—rent's due soon—"

"Oh!" Jonathan shuffled through the contents of his desk drawer. "I must have it somewhere. I—Ah! Yes, here you are." Merlin took the envelope he was offered and pocketed it.

He nodded. "Thank you, sir. Now, I really should be getting back to my shift. Can't have poor Jill out there alone."

Jonathan laughed haughtily in agreement as Merlin headed out of the office.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two.**

The door was opened halfway when Merlin reached it, and he gave a huff of frustration as he pushed it open fully to step through.

"Arthur, you have to start closing the door," he called into the flat once he was through the threshold, and kicked the door shut behind him. Arthur appeared from the corridor. "This isn't Camelot. People _will_ come in and steal things—and there will be no guards to stop them."

It's a conversation they've had umpteen times, but it never seemed to stick in Arthur's head. Part of Merlin thought that Arthur was doing it deliberately, just to annoy him.

"I have you," Arthur said innocently. "Can't you just—," he waved his hand vaguely, "—zap any intruders away."

Merlin raised a brow. "I'm not here all the time."

"Then we'll just have to invest in guards," Arthur said.

"_Or_ you could learn to listen to me."

Arthur wrinkled his nose. "I think hiring guards would be easier."

Merlin knew it was fruitless to argue, so he dropped his pack on the sofa and took Arthur in. He could tell Arthur was still pissed at him for earlier, but his shoulders were no longer tense and his jaw wasn't a tight line. Merlin supposed all Arthur needed was a little exercise and some sun to get his mind off things.

"How was the match?" Merlin asked and plopped down on the sofa.

Arthur leaned against the wall, skeptical of Merlin's interest; but how could Merlin not have his full attention on Arthur? His blue eyes were intensified against the red of the jersey he was still wearing, and he looked damn handsome under the grime and sweat that didn't quite wash away when he attempted to rinse it from his face.

"Child's play," Arthur said, grinning at the recent memory. "Victory isn't even the right word."

"A demolition," Merlin offered. It was a joke they'd told a dozen times.

"A burial!" Arthur said, playing along.

They both chuckled softly. In truth, Merlin was happy that Arthur had found something about this century he thoroughly enjoyed. After all, it was more than Merlin could say.

"Anyway, the lads are going out later on to celebrate," Arthur told him. "I thought maybe you'd like to come along."

Merlin's smile flickered, and Arthur caught it.

"It's just—they've heard all about you, Merlin. Well, _mostly_ all about you," and Merlin didn't know if Arthur was implying the "thousand year old wizard" information or the "junkie" information. He supposed both were omitted.

Arthur shrugged. "I think you'll get on. They're good men."

"They're _your_ men," Merlin said. "Arthur Pendragon and the Knights of the Round Football." Arthur raised his brow, but Merlin powered through. "I'd love to, Arthur, but I haven't gone to the shop yet."

Arthur glared at him. "The _shop_."

"Well," Merlin started, trying to remember what Arthur had said earlier. "We're out of almost everything."

He didn't suppose Arthur believed him.

And he was right. "Do what you will. As long as I don't have to bail you out of jail," he said, nonplussed. "_Again_."

Merlin looked smug. "And you thought you'd be the only one who could ever lock me in the dungeons."

"Don't try to be cute, Merlin. It doesn't become you."

Merlin threw his arms up in defeat. "Oh, it's only the shop—_honestly_!" But Arthur wasn't convinced.

What Merlin needed right now was a distraction—something to get Arthur's mind off of the questions circulating in that head of his. What better than the oldest distraction in the book?

"Oh, come on, Arthur," Merlin said, a smile pressed to his lips as he stood up from the sofa and strode towards Arthur. "Tell you what: Why don't I meet you at the pub?" He placed his palms on Arthur's chest and grinned innocently up at him.

Arthur looked dubious. "Really? You want to?"

"Of course! Right after I go to the shop, I'll come by and buy a round."

Arthur put his hands on Merlin's waist. "Why don't we go to the shop together, then?"

Merlin bit the inside of his mouth and tilted his head to the side, feigning consideration. "No, Arthur—look. You're the team captain! You've got to be there in time for the celebratory toast. No, no. I'll catch you up."

Arthur stared at him hard for a moment or two, but he seemed satisfied, which Merlin was grateful for. After all, once Arthur had a few drinks in him, he'd hardly notice that Merlin never showed up.

"In the meantime," Merlin said. "Why don't we have a celebration of our own?"

Arthur raised a brow, and then brought his lips in towards Merlin, who chortled and leaned away.

"Oh, no! You'll have to make it another victory," he teased, and he broke from Arthur's grip.

Arthur was giving him desperate eyes, but Merlin wasn't going to be swayed by them. He gave another snicker and ran through the flat. Arthur chased after him, and his laughter reached Merlin before its owner did. He tricked Arthur by feigning towards the kitchen at one point, only to rush back into the main room, where Arthur finally cornered him. Merlin fell backwards onto the sofa, and Arthur grabbed Merlin's wrist and tossed him over his shoulder. It never failed to surprise Merlin when Arthur did that; he was not light by any means, but Arthur picked him up as though he were a feather.

"I win," Arthur said like it was a matter of fact, and Merlin pounded his fists softly on Arthur's back as he was carried into the bedroom.

Arthur dumped Merlin onto the mattress and they eyed each other greedily before Arthur crawled on top of him. They pecked at each other's lips, and Arthur tasted sweet: like salt mixed with soap, but there was still a hint of the familiar musk of the Old World lingering stubbornly on his skin. It reminded Merlin of Camelot, and images of the city flashed behind his eyes as his fingers expertly explored the curves and muscles of Arthur's back, making his shirt bunch up. He had to lean his head up to chase Arthur's lips a few times when he would attempt to lean away for oxygen, but Arthur didn't seem to mind not breathing.

Until, at last, he broke free of the kiss and stared down at Merlin with an unreadable expression. He appeared to be thinking, and Merlin couldn't have any of that.

"But you will come, Merlin? To the pub?"

Merlin had to make a conscious effort not to roll his eyes. "Oh, shut up," he breathed and quickly grabbed the back of Arthur's neck and forced their lips together. They did not part until their clothes were littered about the bedside and Merlin was digging his fingernails into Arthur's bare ass. And the topic was forgotten.

Arthur ran his teeth across Merlin's skin, leaving wet trail in their wake, and Merlin hardened against Arthur's hip. He trailed his palms between Arthur's legs, letting out small gasps as Arthur ran circles with his tongue around his nipple.

He reached down and, cupping Merlin in his hand, began rubbing up and down. The friction caused Merlin to writhe beneath Arthur, and he had to hold Arthur's sides to steady himself.

"Come on, come on, Merlin," Arthur was panting, his voice etched with frustration. It made a deep laugh escape Merlin's throat.

"I thought I told you to shut up," he reposed through breaths, but he complied when Arthur rose to his knees.

He had to clutch at the under sheet at first, causing one of the corners to snap off the mattress, but it wasn't long before the pleasure sensations won over and he wrapped his slender fingers around his cock and started working on himself. As their bodies crashed together and rocked back and forth, Merlin briefly wondered why he even bothered getting high when he had Arthur all to himself. All the same, he was happy Arthur had finally stopped questioning him.

Arthur placed his sweaty palms on Merlin's back, his breath coming out more labored than before. Merlin's entire body was thumping in tandem with his heart, and they suddenly heard a loud series of beeps and whistles coming from the kitchen as every appliance kicked on; there was also the faint buzz of static that could be heard from the television. Magic never really mixed well with electricity.

"Shit," Arthur said, his voice a mixture of amusement and shock.

"Just—just leave it," Merlin managed to say through hitching breaths. "Just let it happen."

Despite the fact that both of them thought Merlin might blow out the electricity of the entire estate if they kept up, they didn't very much care. Arthur let out a whoop of laughter, and the sound resonated down Merlin's spine, making him shake. And, luckily, the electricity in the complex held firm.

Merlin collapsed onto the mattress, sprawled out, and Arthur leaned down and wrapped his arms around his torso, still planting kisses on Merlin's back before eventually rolling off. Merlin turned over to lie on his back, too, and Arthur immediately slapped the back of his hand to Merlin's chest.

"One of these days, you're going to start a fire and we won't even know it," he told Merlin with humor in his voice.

Merlin looked up at the ceiling in thought, a grin plastered onto his face. "Actually, I think I might have done that once in Camelot," he admitted.

Arthur turned his head sharply to look at Merlin with wide eyes, and Merlin met them with growing apprehension that quickly turned back into laughter.

"_Ha_!" Arthur bellowed, and Merlin clapped a hand over his own mouth.

* * *

The sun was a pink line on the horizon by the time Merlin tried to creep out of bed, but Arthur put a strong arm around Merlin's waist and dragged him back in. This made the last corner of the under sheet come off the bed.

"Where do you think you're going?" Arthur said into Merlin's hair.

Merlin tried to look at him out of the corner of his eyes. "To the shop," he said. "Like I promised."

"Mmm. The shop is dull."

"You won't be saying that when you can't have your breakfast tomorrow," Merlin quipped. "Anyway, you'd better wash before you go out."

Arthur placed a tender kiss onto Merlin's shoulder blade. "Or you could wash me—like you used to. That was always your favorite chore."

Merlin smirked. "_Chore_. You've got that right."

That earned him a hard pinch on the ass, which made him start and kick under the blankets. Arthur chuckled evilly as Merlin sat up and glared down at him.

"Have a shower, or you'll be late," he said sharply, and when Arthur opened his mouth to protest, Merlin pressed his index figure to Arthur's lips. "I'll only slow you down."

"In the good way?" Arthur wondered aloud, and his breath was warm against Merlin's finger. It was tempting, to say the least, especially when Arthur parted his lips and ran the tip of his tongue down to Merlin's knuckle. So Merlin removed the finger, unsteadying Arthur for a moment.

"No, I'll keep spitting water in your face until you get the message to wash it!"

"You're no fun," Arthur groaned.

Merlin leaned down at kissed his temple. "No," he agreed.

Arthur gave him one last hopeful look up and down before tearing himself from the sheets and walking stark naked out of the room. Merlin waited until he heard the water start running before springing into action.

* * *

Merlin blew puffs into the cold air, watching his breath cascade around him before fading away into the darkness. Well, he supposed it wasn't that dark, after all. The city lights painted the world in a variety of colors, all coming together in a warm glow that flickered against the sky. He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked up at the heavy moon, but there were no pricks of lights scattered about it.

He couldn't remember the last time he had seen stars—_really_ seen them—and that was his least favorite part of this century. It made him feel disconnected—trapped, like he was living underground. He longed for that beautiful night sky in the time before electricity, when people stared up at the stars and didn't know all of eternity was staring back.

"Hey, mate. Enjoying the view?"

The voice brought Merlin back down to Earth, to the empty car park he was standing in, outside a boarded up retail store.

"Seen better," Merlin told the scruffy man who had joined him. He wore a beaten leather jacket over a sweater, with the hood pulled low over his face.

Merlin removed his hand from his pocket and offered it to the man, who grasped it and gave it a friendly shake. During the greeting, Merlin felt a small bag press into his palm, and wrapped his fingers around it in a fist before shoving his hand back into his jacket.

"How much, Jack?"

Jack looked around him casually. "Fifty," he said, and Merlin swallowed hard, which Jack clocked. "Ah, I know you're good for it, man. Haven't let me down yet."

Merlin gave a shallow laugh, relieved. "I'll have it for you by next week," he promised. "Working double shifts for the next three days."

"Hey, I'll hold you to that. Don't make me break those pretty fingers," Jack joked, slapping Merlin on the shoulder. At least, Merlin _thought_ he was joking.

He thought it was best to smile back regardless. "Don't worry."

A vibration came from Jack's pocket, and he produced his phone. The small screen added to the glow of the blinding city.

"I gotta head out," he said, not even glancing up at Merlin again. "Time is money."

"Time is a lot of things," Merlin said, and waved Jack off.

Once he was alone again, he looked around his surroundings, checking if anyone were around. He spotted a CCTV camera eyeing him on a pole across the street, so he decided to duck into the alley next to the abandoned shop. There, his only company was rat-infested bins and scurrying bugs, none of which had objections.

He crouched down next to the stone wall and rolled up his shirtsleeve, feeling for veins in his arm. It didn't take long for him to find one, and he muttered a thanks to Gaius, wherever he may be, for the medical training.

Oh, if Gaius could see him now…

Merlin lost himself for a moment, trying to place his old friend's face, but could not. And he couldn't stand the conscious world any longer.

* * *

Nearly an hour had passed by the time Merlin was headed back to the flat, and he still hadn't gone to the shop—which he needed to do in order to maintain plausible deniability. He took his mobile out and punched Arthur's contact information. After a dozen rings, it went to Arthur's outgoing message.

"Hi, sorry, I got a bit held up at the shop," he said into the mouthpiece, his eyes to the pavement as he walked the still-crowded street. "They were in the middle of restocking, so I had to wait around for a bit for the basics. So, don't worry. I'll be home in—"

Someone sidestepped out of the alley just ahead of Merlin, and Merlin nearly bumped into him but saved himself in the last moment after seeing the man's shoes. The man's _familiar_ shoes. His words caught in his throat as his eyes slowly made their way up to the man's face.

"Right," he said into the phone. "So, I'm looking at you right now. I've got to say, you look cross—but it suites you, yeah. You look _extraordinarily _handsome."

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Really, you do… Okay, I'm going to hang up now, but I bet you'll feel incredibly embarrassed about yelling at me in the middle of the street with all these people around, so keep that in mind."

Arthur raised a brow as though in serious doubt about that point.

Merlin shrugged. "And, yeah. I love you. And I'm an ass—"

To this, Arthur gave an exaggerated frown and skewed his eyes upward in consideration before nodding in agreement.

"—Okay. Goodbye."

He ended the call and put the phone back into his pocket, and then cautiously met Arthur's glare with an innocent smile.

"Arthur, hello," he said, trying to play it cool. "I thought you'd be home by now. Is the pub around here?"

"No, it's not. I sat drinks out tonight." Arthur licked his lips. "Buy anything nice at the shop?" he asked, a bite to his tone.

Merlin nodded quickly. "Yeah, yeah—I mean, _no_. They—they were closed."

"It takes you two hours to figure that out, does it?"

"Well, the 'closed' sign isn't very big…"

Arthur let out a bitter laugh and looked off. "I saw you in the car park," he said at last. "I _waited_ for you in the car park."

Merlin narrowed his eyes. "You followed me?"

Arthur said nothing. He turned around and started down the street, his shoulders in a tense line.

"Arthur!" Merlin called after him. "Arthur, come on! I—" He groaned, knowing what comes next.

* * *

"You lied to me! _Again_!"

"Arthur, at least wait until the door is closed," Merlin said, softly shutting the front door that Arthur had slammed open as he stampeded into the flat with Merlin in toe.

"And do you know _why_ you lied, Merlin?" he said, turning around to face him. "Because what you're doing is wrong. And you know it's wrong."

"No, I lied to avoid _this_," Merlin corrected. His blood was already starting to boil. "And what do you mean _wrong_? What is this—church? What would you possibly know about it?"

"I know enough! I know what it does to you—what it makes you act like. And I don't like it!"

Merlin threw his arms in the air. "Oh, let's just do everything the way _you_ like it, then! Shall I phone the Prime Minister? Tell him you're taking over again?" He pushed passed Arthur into the main room, but Arthur wasn't done berating him. He followed Merlin.

"I just don't understand, Merlin," he said. "What's going on in that idiotic head of yours? Is the world _really_ that bad?"

This stopped Merlin in his tracks. He looked back at Arthur sharply. "No. Not day by day. But when you look at it as a whole… No one was ever meant to look at it as a whole."

"Merlin—" His voice was softer now.

He waved it away. "You wouldn't understand."

And the edge in Arthur's tone was back. "No, I wouldn't! Because you never tell me anything!"

"What's there to tell?"

"There's _a thousand years_ worth of things to tell! But you never say—" He tightened his jaw. "You never say _anything_. And yet, you can't seem to leave the past behind. You keep letting it take you over. It's ruining you."

Merlin thought this was a bit melodramatic. "It's not _ruining_ me, Arthur."

"Oh, it's not?" Arthur held his hand out close to Merlin's face and began snapping repeatedly before his eyes. "Is it? Is it? Is it?" he snipped as he did so, and Merlin stumbled a step backwards and tried to blink away the disorientation.

Arthur grabbed a throw pillow from the sofa and tossed it at Merlin. "Catch," he warned, but it bounced off of Merlin's shoulder. Arthur then picked up a forgotten mug from the end table. "No? How about this?" He tossed it into the air above him, and Merlin's eyes flashed a dull gold to stop gravity from shattering the mug, but he was a fraction too slow.

"Reflexes not what they used to be, _Mer_lin?"

"No!" Merlin shouted back. "I guess that's what comes along with _age_." It's a card he'd played hundreds of times, and it seemed like it wasn't going to fly this time.

Arthur shook his head and gripped the top of the sofa. "Oh, spare me," he spat. "Just let me in, Merlin! I'm _here_ now—I'm with you! Yet, all you do is chase ghosts."

"Of course, I do. It's all I know," Merlin told him, perturbed, but there was haunted look about him. "You took the fast path, Arthur. You don't know what it's like, so how can you sit there and judge? You've never approved of what I am! Just because you think you're so much better than everyone else—so high and mighty—"

"I have never thought myself better than anyone—especially you," Arthur defended. He gestured vaguely with his hands, taking Merlin in. "You've just changed so much, Merlin. _ So_ much. I never wanted that for you."

Merlin regarded him coldly. "Well, I'm sorry _you_ didn't get what _you_ wanted."

"Fine, not _wanted_," Arthur conceded. "But I had hoped—"

"Well, don't!" Merlin cut him off frigidly. "Hope if for children, Arthur. Hope only leaves you dried out and disappointed—with nothing but old age and a lifetime of what ifs. And I would appreciate it if you didn't use such terrible words like _hope_ in front of me."

There was a pause in which Arthur studied him, his face solemn. "Do you _want_ to die?"

"It doesn't matter."

"_Do you want to die_?"

Merlin bit his tongue. He didn't want to consider the question, but he couldn't help it. After all, it was all he _ever_ considered.

"I _did_," he said at last. "For a long time. But not anymore, alright?"

"Why not?"

"Because of you, you prick! Why do you think?" Merlin let out a sigh, finally able to meet Arthur's searching eyes. "You came back. You made it better. I—" He shrugged. "I'm happy."

Arthur looked down at the sofa. "Evidently, not enough," he muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"No, say it." Merlin was trying to pick a fight now. He gestured to Arthur. "Go on."

Arthur let out a heavy sigh, which he seemed to have been holding in for a long, long time. "It's just—it's _hard_, Merlin. You're right; I don't know what you've been through. I can't _begin_ to know. But to watch you… _destroy_ yourself—"

"I'm not _destroying_ myself!" Merlin interjected loudly. "I _can't_ die!"

"You don't know that!" Arthur argued. "Now that I'm back, you don't know what's going to happen! Neither do I, but I can't navigate this world without you, Merlin. I don't understand it! I'm useless in it! It's too—" He searched for the right words. "—too _big_," he decided on lamely. "I don't even know how to ride the _tube_—or what a _tube_ even is! And, I don't mean to sound ungrateful—"

"Well, you are!"

"—But you're not _helping_!"

Merlin couldn't believe what he was hearing. "That's not true," he said defensively. "I've taught you a lot."

"No, you've taught me basic things. It's not enough," Arthur admitted. "I'm just trying to help, Merlin—to help _you_. But how can I when I don't know how? I've had to be entirely self-sufficient in a _completely_ different world! And ever since I came back—"

"Yeah, why did you come back?" Merlin asked callously. "The world isn't any more shit than it usually is. What, is it to babysit me?"

Arthur thought on this. "_Maybe_, yes."

"Well, if I needed a babysitter, Avalon could have spit out my mum. Or Gaius, for that matter! So, why don't you just go back where you came from and leave me the fuck alone!" The words were out of his mouth before he could undo it, and Merlin was willing to admit that perhaps that was going a bit too far.

Arthur looked at him with wide eyes and a slack jaw for a few moments of heavy silence.

"Arthur—" Merlin started, trying to take it back, but he didn't know what to say.

Arthur was completely speechless. Until he wasn't.

He backed up from the sofa and towards the door. "I can't—I just don't think I can be around you right now, Merlin."

Instantly, Merlin felt rage in his heart again. "Fine!" he snapped. "Go! Just _leave again_! I was getting on fine with out you before! I'm not your servant anymore, Arthur; I don't have to do as you say! No one does! You're not King anymore—you're _nothing_!"

Arthur grabbed his jacket from the rack and shot Merlin a tight smile. "Phone me when you have a clear mind," he said through his teeth, and tore the front door open.

Merlin rushed towards him. "Don't forget to slam the door—let the whole estate know you didn't get your way, _your majesty_!"

And Arthur did slam the door, but it only made Merlin feel empty.

"_Fuck_!" he shouted, and toaster in the kitchen shattered into a million pieces.

* * *

Arthur returned a few hours later, but he did not speak to Merlin. He silently sat down on the sofa and turned on the television, but didn't seem remotely interested in anything that was on as he flipped through the channels.

By that point, Merlin had regretted everything that he said, but didn't know how to take it back with it sounding genuine. After all, they both knew this wasn't their first fight—and it wouldn't be their last.

He paced out of the kitchen with a mug of tea and stopped in front of the sofa, holding it out towards Arthur as a peace offering. It wasn't much, but it was all he had.

Arthur warily looked from the mug, to Merlin, and back again.

"It's not poisoned!" Merlin snapped, and instantly shot Arthur apologetic eyes.

Arthur looked taken aback for a moment, but he cleared his throat and straightened up. "I didn't think it was," he said softly and relieved Merlin of the mug, taking a sip.

Merlin sat down on the next cushion, trying to keep a safe distance from Arthur as he attempted to gage his reaction out of the corner of his eyes. Arthur kept his gaze forward, but he wasn't paying attention to the TV.

"I'm glad you're here," Merlin said softly, because he didn't know what else to say, and because it was the truth.

Arthur placed the mug of tea on the table before them, not looking at Merlin. "I know," he answered.

Finally, their eyes met, and Merlin gave a timid half-smile before Arthur reached for him and wrapped him in his arms.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three. **

Arthur burrowed his face into the crook of Merlin's neck and wrapped his arms tighter around his waist. This caused Merlin to smile into the ruffled sheets and press his back further against Arthur's chest.

"Good morning," he said groggily, watching the rays of sunshine poke through the cracks in the curtains and illuminate the walls.

"Mmm," Arthur said in ways of response, and Merlin felt his lips press against his shoulder. For once, he was contented to stay in bed, and it felt good to not have to sneak out with a few kilos of stolen drugs. Arthur's arms were safe, and all he wanted to do was steal kisses.

He knew Arthur appreciated these quiet moments just as much as Merlin did, and perhaps he even realized how terrified Arthur was at the idea of never getting another moment like it. Merlin could be impossible when he was high or jonesing for a hit, and he knew Arthur was doing his best.

Arthur, who only wanted to help him.

Arthur, who had to make his own way in an unfamiliar century. Merlin was supposed to be taking care of Arthur, not the other way around.

"Breakfast?" Arthur grumbled, and Merlin's heart dropped into his stomach. He didn't want to lose Arthur's warm body against his.

He rolled over to face Arthur and snaked his arms around him. "No."

"You need to eat."

"You need to shut up."

He pressed a kiss to Arthur's lips and felt Arthur smile into it.

"You need to make me."

It was more of an invitation than a challenge, but Merlin still pushed his lips hard against Arthur's to silence him. Arthur rolled onto his back and pulled Merlin on top of him, letting their feet tangle together. His hands felt their way beneath Merlin's shirt, and Arthur brushed the tips of his fingers gently up and down Merlin's back. It tickled ever so slightly, and caused Merlin to chuckle into the kiss.

"You're too sensitive," Arthur said out of the corner of his mouth, not daring to separate his lips from Merlin's.

"Am not."

"Oh, yeah?"

_That_ was a challenge.

Arthur worked his fingers along Merlin's sides quickly and deeply, throwing Merlin into a fit of laughter.

"No, Arthur! Don't!" he pleaded through broken gasps of air. He tried to escape Arthur's grasp, but Arthur rolled them over so he was on top and could pin Merlin to the mattress. Merlin fought to roll them over again.

"Merlin, _no_!"

There was a heart stopping moment of panic before they crashed in a pile of limbs and sheets onto the floor. Both were still laughing breathlessly as they rolled away from each other, but could not untangle themselves from the blanket. Arthur turned over on his side and looked Merlin up and down, until his eyes rested on the track marks on Merlin's outstretched arm. The look in his eyes was no longer tender.

It was just sad.

Merlin's smile fell as he watched Arthur reach out and run his fingers down Merlin's forearm, careful to avoid any bruised areas. Merlin wanted to distract Arthur—to do anything to get that look out of his eyes. He smiled disarmingly, but Arthur's own smile didn't reach his eyes.

"You'll come home after work?" Arthur asked in a small voice, not meeting Merlin's gaze.

Merlin's mouth tightened, and he nodded reassuringly. Even though they both knew that was probably a lie, neither of them said anything.

* * *

"Ya out of ya fookin' mind," Jeremy said as his stubby fingers finished rolling the J. He ran it through the dull flame of his lighter a few times, and Merlin rolled his eyes at how slow all this took without magic. "When was the las' time they won a match, eh? Exac'ly!"

Merlin stopped listening a long time ago, but Jack leaned in and slapped Jeremy lightly on the cheek. "Don't bite the hand that feeds you, man," he said simply. "Think about where you're getting your black from, my friend."

Jeremy grumbled and blew out puffs of blue smoke before passing it to his left and giving Jack a hit.

"Ah, fook," Jeremy said, coughing under the aftermath of the drag. "Wha's tha' laced wiff—arsenic?"

Jack blew out expertly. "Molly, I think," he told. "Just came in from Scotland." He offered the blunt to a girl sitting next to him on the sofa by waving it in front of her face, but she didn't stir. She sat slumped in the cushions, staring off blankly at the dank wall opposite the couch.

"Stoopid bitch can' handle anyfin'," Jeremy huffed as Jack reached over the girl and passed the blunt to Merlin.

As the smoke filled Merlin's head, he watched Jeremy—obnoxious, tedious Jeremy—pick himself up from the chair and lean over the girl. He shook her shoulder, but she might as well have been dead.

"Wake up!" he shouted at her before turning to Jack. "Fook. Wha's 'er name again?"

Jack shrugged. "You're the one fuckin' her, man." He kicked his feet up on the sticky coffee table.

Meanwhile, the girl grumbled softly, and Jeremy looked somewhat relieved that she was alive.

"C'mon, then. No more takin' up space fir these luvly gentlemen," he said, grabbing the girl's arm and jerking her to her feet. She fell messily into his chest and instantly started groping at his muscles.

Merlin watched lazily as Jeremy slung more abuses at her before grabbing her ass and reaching up her skirt. Perhaps it was just the drug kicking in, but it made Merlin jealous. He wanted to feel a body against his—something warm and solid and strong.

And it certainly wasn't going to be anyone here. He was next to positive that Jeremy and his nameless fuck of the day were riddled with every STD known to man—not that Merlin had to worry about that, anyway. He'd protected himself against that a long time ago. Still, he didn't much care for Jeremy, who looked preoccupied anyway; and, like Jack said, he wasn't about to bite any part of the body that fed him.

He took one last drag of the blunt and handed back to Jack as he stood up.

"I'm off," he announced over the grunting coming from the armchair. He reached into his pocket and held two fifties between his fingers. "What I owe you," he told Jack, and placed the money on the table at Jack's feet.

"Ah, Merlin, Merlin, Merlin," Jack sang, a dazed grin on his face. "See, I can always count on you."

Merlin shot one last look at the shameless couple in the corner before heading out.

* * *

He was lying blissfully on the sofa with a blank mind—reeling from his most recent hit. Arthur wasn't in, and Merlin wished more than anything he would come back soon.

All Merlin wanted was to touch, and to be touched; but not in the way a stranger would do. His skin tingled with the need for something softer, and magical energy buzzed beneath the barrier of his fingertips.

Outside the door, he heard the jingling of keys and the turning of a lock. Next, he registered the sound of the door opening, followed by the hopeful call of his name to check if he were home. He sat up, revealing himself over the top of the sofa.

"Arthur," he said with a smile, hungrily eyeing Arthur up and down. His cheeks were flushed red from the cold and his hair glistened with sweat, and Merlin reasoned he must have gone for a jog. He had the urge to lick up every bit of salt off Arthur's skin.

Arthur was oblivious to the way Merlin was regarding him, and he nodded a brief hello before heading towards the bathroom to splash water on his face. Merlin frowned pointedly in the direction he had disappeared down the hallway before following after him.

Arthur had abandoned his shirt and was now using a towel to dry off his face as he re-entered the hallway, headed towards the bedroom for a change of clothes. Merlin wouldn't let him get that far. When Arthur rested the towel across the back of his neck, Merlin pulled it off and tossed it to the side, causing Arthur to spin around with a perplexed look on his face. There was a quick moment that Merlin allowed himself to glance down at Arthur's chest before heaving him hard against the wall with great force, and a little magical assistance.

"_Mer_lin—!" Arthur began to protest, but Merlin silenced him by smashing their lips together, and it didn't take much persuading until Arthur was reciprocating. He cupped the back of Merlin's neck and brought his head in closer, simultaneously pushing his tongue between Merlin's lips.

Merlin squeezed his hands down the front of Arthur's pants and rubbed his inner thigh roughly. Arthur's cock twitched as it made contact with Merlin's fingers, and Arthur gasped. He had to come up for air, but Merlin wasn't going to let a silly little thing like breathing ruin the moment. He trailed his lips down to Arthur's neck, and he glanced up long enough to register the satisfying glaze that overtook Arthur's blue eyes.

"Want to take this to the bedroom?" Arthur asked, his breath hitching.

"No," answered Merlin through kisses. "Here."

The next thing he knew, he was being forced against the opposing wall by Arthur's strong arms. Arthur laid his palms flat against the plaster on both sides of Merlin's head and crowded in, staring intently down at Merlin's swollen pink lips. He brought his own to them, kissing Merlin slowly and sporadically at first before grabbing Merlin's ass. His lips worked their way to the crook of Merlin's neck. Merlin moaned as Arthur grunted, and Merlin figured it was about time clothes were out of the picture. His eyes flashed a deep gold, and Arthur's trousers fell to his ankles.

Arthur chuckled. "You're cheating," he whispered. He didn't have any magical shortcuts, so he took off Merlin's belt and jeans the old-fashioned way, and Merlin assisted him in lifting his t-shirt over his head and tossing it to the side on the hardwood.

Arthur spun Merlin around, and pressed him further into the wall. Arthur filled him out, and how little pain that was involved in the process when heroin was swimming through his veins always surprised Merlin. Arthur wrapped one arm around Merlin's stomach, keeping Merlin close to him, while the other hand jerked him off.

They worked into a rhythm, and Merlin reached up and clamored at the back of Arthur's head, his fingers pulling at Arthur's short blonde hair. He tilted his neck back and rested it on Arthur's shoulder, letting out happy sounds between heavy breaths; and Arthur bent his head forward to groan into Merlin's lower neck.

Merlin felt Arthur's saliva mixed in with sticky sweat against his skin, and he was aware of Arthur's heart pounding against his spine. He let out an involuntary laugh because, with Arthur, it was always those little details that drove Merlin mad: the things he did, the noises he made, the reactions of his body. After all this time, they were still enough to nearly knock Merlin off his legs, and to make his entire body shake. Everything was different with Arthur. With others, it was just fucking—a means to an end.

Never with Arthur.

Merlin's eyes flashed gold as the two climaxed together—as they only did for Arthur—and Merlin breathed his name like it was sacred. He heard Arthur's voice caress him, calling out for him. Only for him.

When their bodies separated, Merlin felt much colder, as the world always did without Arthur. He turned slowly back around to face Arthur, spent but pushing him closer for body heat, but was suddenly too coy to look Arthur in the eyes. Arthur was grinning, and his breaths were still coming out heavily.

"Why did I even bother jogging today?" he laughed.

Merlin smiled back and kissed his jaw.

* * *

They spent the rest of the evening curled up on the sofa watching television, Merlin's back leaning against Arthur's chest as Arthur enclosed his arms around him. They were perfectly contented for hours, until Merlin felt the familiar sensation of coming down from a particular high he so enjoyed. His fingers felt weak as he tried to ball them into fists, and his mind was blurring as he attempted to focus on the TV. Arthur cleared his throat behind him, momentarily loosening his arms around Merlin, and Merlin felt his heart jump into his throat.

He didn't want to lose this moment, and he knew there was only one way he could reel it back in.

He looked over his shoulder and Arthur and smiled softly. "I have to pee," he lied, and Arthur huffed as he released him.

Merlin rounded the corner and made his way half way down the hallway, pausing to shut the bathroom door loudly enough for Arthur to hear it, and then he proceeded to tiptoe towards the bedroom. Once there, he knelt down besides his side of the bed and pulled back the corner of the rug. There were no loose floorboards, but with a quick incantation, Merlin pulled one of the planks up and felt around for his stash.

There wasn't much left, and Merlin knew he'd have to get more tomorrow, but what little he did have would hold him off for a while. He didn't bother with a lighter or a spoon to liquefy the powder—he didn't need that. Ah, the perks of wizardry.

Once the substance was sparkling dully in the syringe, he wrapped his forearm in a tourniquet and pressed the rusted needle into his vein. The world felt a little lighter as soon as he pressed down the stopper, and he couldn't quite remember why he was so worried about sneaking around. Nevertheless, he hid the items again under the floor and blocked off the secret access while he was still thinking somewhat clearly.

He eyed the empty plastic baggie on the floor next to him, picked it up, and licked it clean, just in case there were any particles he missed. Then his muscles relaxed. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he suddenly felt sleepy. Too tired to pick himself up to the mattress, he collapsed to the floor and rolled over on his back to watch ceiling spin. He didn't know how long he'd been lying there—maybe days—but the ceiling started look like Arthur, and it was saying Merlin's name. Merlin liked the ceiling.

He grinned at it happily.

* * *

_BEEP BEEP BEEP._

Merlin slammed his fist down on the alarm clock before he was fully awake, and when he opened his eyes to the sunlight, he was in bed beneath the covers. Not wondering too much on how he got there, he rubbed the tired from his eyes and got up to dress.

A few minutes later, he was in the kitchen, grabbing a quick breakfast of toast and gulping down half the carton of orange juice. Arthur was sitting at the table in the corner of the kitchen; his lips were in a tight line as he leafed through the newspaper and barely touched his own breakfast.

"Right, I'm off," Merlin announced, grabbing his apartment keys from the counter. "I'm working a double shift, so don't wait up." And Arthur knew what that really meant.

He smiled at Arthur, but Arthur didn't even look at him. Instead, he was staring at the wall like he wanted to punch it. Merlin certainly hoped he wouldn't: They couldn't afford to plaster it.

Merlin's smile faltered slightly, but he decided to power through it. On his way out, he kissed the top of Arthur's head.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four.**

Merlin lived for the end of the day. By the time he left work, it had nearly been a full twenty-four hours without a dose, and he knew he would have to find a way to fill his empty pockets. He found a local bar, and in it was a pretty young thing sipping Merlot. Her name was Julia, she was engaged to a wealthy producer in Cardiff, and she was in town for the weekend visiting her mother. She said her fiancé was a good man: Everything she'd ever dreamed. Merlin flashed her a handsomely crooked grin and, after a quick and dirty in the ladies' room and a bit of supernatural thievery, her large diamond ring was in his pocket. He managed to pawn it for enough money for a fix.

He met Jack in the back of an old video shop, and he shot up something pretty dismal, but it got the job done. He was feeling better already. Jack assured him that what Merlin just received was nothing compared to what his friend from Glasgow had in supply.

"I'm headed up there tonight for my share," he told Merlin. "You wanna see what the _real_ shit's like—you come with me."

Merlin didn't think it was a bad idea.

They took the train the Glasgow, and arrived in the early hours of the morning. Most of the day was spent finding the supplier, and then testing his top shelf heroin. "For you, only the best," he told Merlin, and Merlin returned the favor by putting both he and Jack under a sleeping spell and making off with all the stash he could fit in his jacket pockets.

That night, he went to a club and found a good-looking man who reminded him somewhat of Gwaine—but maybe it was just the hair. The man invited Merlin back to his flat, and they smoked a hit before Gwaine-look-alike taught Merlin the true meaning of the word blowjob.

In the morning, Merlin found the man's wallet and emptied it of its contents—only about fifty pounds—and used the money to make his way back home.

* * *

Merlin came crashing through the door and stumbled to the floor, and the first thing he saw were Arthur's shoes at eye level with him. He glanced up tentatively, finally reaching Arthur's glaring expression and tightly crossed arms. Merlin grinned innocently.

"Mind helping me up?"

Arthur threw his arms in the air in defeat and stalked towards the kitchen.

Merlin's smile fell, and he eventually pushed himself to a stand and followed Arthur's path. He could smell something cooking, and realized distantly that it must have been around dinnertime.

_Good_, Merlin thought. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten.

"Smells good," Merlin told Arthur when he reached him, and leaned in to kiss his cheek, but Arthur grabbed a kitchen knife from the block and swung it towards Merlin's throat, missing purposefully by a fraction of an inch.

Merlin had almost forgotten how skilled Arthur was with a blade. It was like riding a bicycle, he supposed—a lethal, pointy bicycle that Arthur had been trained to wield since birth.

Still, the reminder didn't make Merlin any less angry that the knife had been used _on him_. He jumped back.

"What the _fuck_, Arthur!"

"What the fuck?" Arthur repeated, his tone dripping with anger. He let out a hollow laugh. "Figure it out." He stabbed the tip of the knife into the battered linoleum of the counter and turned away from Merlin to pull a small meat pie out of the oven. It was from a frozen package that clearly only served one, but Arthur looked disgusted by it when he placed it down on the counter to cool.

Merlin blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's been three days, Merlin," Arthur said, trying to stay calm, but he was gripping the edge of the counter with white knuckles. "Where have you been?"

Merlin looked at his shoes and shrugged. "Just around," he said. "Just out."

"I thought you were—" Arthur bit the inside of his mouth to stop himself.

Merlin snorted a laugh. "What? Dead? Don't hold your breath."

Arthur looked hurt by this, and he took in a steadying gasp after a beat. "I can't do this, Merlin," he said definitely.

Merlin felt like all the air had been ripped from the room. "Do _what_?"

"This," Arthur said, toggling his index finger back and forth between them. "You. Us."

Merlin let out a laugh. Arthur was obviously losing his wits. "Are you breaking up with me?" he asked lightly. The thought was ridiculous.

"Yes."

Merlin's smile dropped, and the situation turned from humorous to infuriating in that single syllable.

"No," Merlin said dryly. "You're not."

Arthur squared his jaw. His mind was made up. "I'm sorry, Merlin. But I've done a lot more research over the past three days—and a lot of thinking, too. All the prevention websites say I need to give you an ultimatum." Merlin sneered at him. He was doing this because of a stupid intervention website?

"_This_ is the ultimatum."

He began to leave the room, but Merlin outstretched his palm towards Arthur. His eyes flashed gold, and Arthur stopped dead—frozen in place.

"Merlin, let me go," he demanded, his voice shaking with the strain it took to speak.

"Do you know how long I've waited for you? Do you have any _idea_?" It wasn't a question. "And now you're just going to leave?"

"Merlin."

Merlin lowered her arm, and Arthur's body slackened but he did not walk away. Instead, he turned to face Merlin.

"I'm sorry," he said again.

"You don't get to be _sorry_!" Merlin shouted, and the meat pie flew off the counter and slammed against the kitchen wall seemingly by its own volition. "Every day, I went to Avalon looking for you. _Every day_ for over a thousand years—everyone else left you! They left _me_!" He felt tears streaming from his eyes, but he didn't know why. He hated those tears. He hated Arthur. "_You_ left me! All on my own!" He swallowed passed the lump in his throat.

"It was only a matter of time until you left again," he said, shaking his head. He could no longer look at Arthur. He kept his eyes fixed to the countertop, and there was a silence so definite that Merlin was certain Arthur had gone.

But then he felt Arthur next to him, grabbing at his shoulders and turning him around. Arthur placed his warm palms on Merlin's cheeks and tilted his head up to catch his eyes.

"I don't want to, Merlin," he said softly. "I don't want to leave you when you need me."

"I need you," Merlin said, letting his tears flow. "I'm sorry. I need you."

He brought his lips to Arthur, and Arthur let Merlin kiss him deeply.

"I'm so sorry," Merlin whispered in between desperate kisses, giving Arthur promises he didn't know if he could fulfill, like "I'll stop," amongst the repetition of "Oh god, I need you." Arthur gave in and wrapped his arms around Merlin.

_Safe_, Merlin thought. He felt safe. And so cold.

"Stay," Merlin begged. He couldn't lose Arthur; not again. Not ever again.

"C'mon," Arthur said, taking Merlin by the hand and tugging him towards the hallway. "Let's get you cleaned up."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five.**

Arthur made sure to check every nook of the flat, and he managed to find all the hiding places that Merlin had kept a secret from him. Within a day, all traces of drug paraphernalia were bagged and chucked out with the rest of the trash. Merlin had to practice a particularly great amount of self-restraint to keep from digging through the bins after Arthur had gone to sleep.

Because he was already feeling it.

It started with the need for more, which was nothing he wasn't used to, but the idea of not being able to satisfy that need made him pace like a lion in a cage. Worse still, Arthur didn't let him out of his sight for a second for the first three days. When Arthur did have to step out for food or to get Merlin pain medication, he took precautions to make sure Merlin wouldn't leave the flat. He changed the locks, he bolted the windows—if Merlin didn't know any better, he'd think Arthur would have bugged the place.

"Why don't you just tie me up!" Merlin snapped on the second night.

"That's not a bad idea," Arthur threatened, so Merlin stayed put.

It was day four now, and Arthur had gone off to his weekly pub league match. He was reluctant at first, but Merlin promised he would be good. Besides, he couldn't move if he wanted to. His entire body felt as though it were on pins and needles—his muscles felt hollow, and his bones felt like weights. He'd spent the majority of the afternoon with his head in the toilet, causing him to feel weak and empty. God, he just wanted it to be over. All of it. Everything.

Despite the sweat matting his raven colored hair to his forehead, he shivered the ice from his spine and wrapped his hoodie tighter around him. It was no use: He couldn't shake the cold.

Not knowing what else to do, he crawled into the shower and reached for the knob marked with a scripted "h," and spun it around until he could no longer. The boiling water turned his cheeks a fiery red and soaked his clothes through in nearly an instant, but it felt good.

Distantly, he heard the front door open, and he could make out the sound of footsteps in the corridor over the rushing sound of water.

"Merlin?" a voice from the hallway reached him, but Merlin couldn't call out. He could only sputter as hot water seeped through his lips. His eyes faded to gold, as they did intermittently over the past few days, in protest of the pains and aches—his magic fighting against his body.

Arthur appeared in the threshold, his knees muddy and bruised beneath his loose red shorts. He let his duffle slide off his shoulders and hit the floor as he blinked at Merlin helplessly. Arthur didn't know what to do, and that hurt Merlin more than any symptom yet.

"Was cold," Merlin managed to stutter through clattering teeth, and he reached a shaking hand out to Arthur, but Arthur did not take it. Instead, he climbed into the tub and sat next to Merlin in the cramped space. Within a moment, he too was soaked to the skin, but he did not complain about the temperature of the water.

He slung his arm over Merlin and brought Merlin closer to him, and Merlin shuttered some more as he rested his head on Arthur's shoulder.

"How was the match?" Merlin asked in a whisper.

Arthur tipped his head to the side and rested it on Merlin's.

"We lost."

They sat like that in silence for longer than both of them expected and, when Merlin was ready, Arthur dried him off and got him into his warmest pajamas. They bundled up on the mattress, and Arthur insisted that Merlin eat some soup, but Merlin refused it—knowing he would regret it later if he didn't. So instead, Arthur found a bad movie on TV and attempted to make Merlin laugh by making fun of it.

He was patient when Merlin suddenly felt like his skin was on fire, and helped him out of his pajamas only for Merlin to decide a moment later that he was freezing again. Beneath the duvet, Arthur blanketed himself over Merlin and worked on what promised to be the darkest love bite of all time on the crook of Merlin's neck. He bit and sucked, and Merlin groped and clawed frantically at Arthur's back, and the movie was forgotten. Arthur fell asleep on top of him, his lips still touching Merlin's flesh, as Merlin breathed shallowly, wishing for a sleep that never came.

* * *

He woke up with the memory of a thousand lifetimes pressing down upon him, and he found he couldn't move under the weight of it all.

7:43AM, the digital clock read in angry red numbers, and Merlin knew he had only managed about four hours of sleep—not that it mattered anyway. He expected the memories would only weed their way into his dreams if he had slept properly. Subconsciously, he knew they weren't all bad times, but he couldn't seem to recall the good.

He stared at Arthur's sleeping form for what seemed like an eternity, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath, and Merlin remembered when that breath had once been taken from Arthur. Images of Arthur's cold body flashed behind his eyelids each time he blinked.

There too were images of people dying on the streets during the Black Death. He watched London burn under the Blitz. He saw bombs go off and mothers and children gunned down and airplanes crash into buildings. His bones ached with age and weariness, but he was much too exhausted to sleep.

Arthur's eyes fluttered opened at little passed eight o'clock, and he rose to start his day after thirty minutes of trying to get Merlin to speak—or at least say good morning. Merlin wasn't too keen on speech at the moment, and he stared blankly instead as Arthur whispered to him and caressed his forearm. Once Arthur had gone, he stirred only to blow his nose or to vomit in the bowl Arthur had placed on the nightstand the night before.

It was three in the afternoon when he could bear it no longer. It was thoughts like these that had driven him to use in the first place, lest they would drive him instead to madness, and he felt a need to push them away—a need stronger than ever. Arthur could never be able to comprehend the thoughts spinning in Merlin's mind, but he would have to understand.

Perhaps, just maybe, Arthur had missed something. Perhaps the entire flat wasn't totally cleaned out.

Merlin quite literally dragged himself out of bed and padded towards the hallway, frantically checking his back at all times to make sure Arthur wasn't around to see him. When he reached the edge of the corridor, he heard Arthur milling about in the kitchen, and he snuck into the bathroom.

He closed the lid on the bowl and stood on top of it, and then proceeded to feel around in the gap between the heating pipe and the wall in the ceiling.

Nothing.

"Shit," he breathed. He was certain Arthur wouldn't have thought to look there.

He stepped off the toilet and stood in front of the sink, catching himself accidentally in the mirror. He barely recognized the person looking back, and wondered how much that had to do with the withdrawal. He felt as though he were transparent, simply blending in to the background and the cracks in the world. Like he was fading away.

He pulled the mirror back and started rummaging through the medicine cabinet behind it, messily tipping over bottles and boxes of Band-Aids. Nothing was hidden in there either, but there was a beat in which Merlin wondered how many pain relievers he had to swallow to achieve the same effects as a heroin high. How many could stop the pain for good?

"What are you doing?"

The sudden voice from behind him made him jump, but he gathered himself quickly enough and looked over his shoulder to see Arthur leaning against the doorframe.

"I have a headache," he only half-lied. "I was looking for Aspirin."

Arthur heaved himself upright and stepped into the bathroom, giving the remnants of the trashed medicine cabinet and its contents that Merlin had knocked into the basin bellow the once over. He located the bottle of Aspirin momentarily and pressed it into Merlin's palm, eyeing him suspiciously as he did so. Merlin gave him his best puppy dog eyes.

"Must have missed it," Merlin said awkwardly, opening the bottle with more force than regularly needed and popping two white pills into his mouth for show.

"Observation was never your strong point, Merlin," Arthur teased, and he swung the mirror back into place. "Good to see you up and about," Arthur said after a pause. "How are you feeling today?"

"Better," Merlin answered a hairline too quickly, and Arthur didn't seem to buy it.

"Maybe we can make that true," he said, moving behind Merlin and enveloping his arms around him. He swayed Merlin from side to side gently and pecked at his ear. Merlin watched him in the mirror.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked before he realized he was doing so. "Putting up with me, I mean."

Arthur appeared to have the answer ready. "God knows you've done enough for me over the years. You must deserve _some_ retribution," he said into Merlin's skin. "Also, I do this because I love you, and I don't want to lose you."

Merlin blinked at their reflection in the mirror, but Arthur didn't look up to meet his gaze. He was shocked, to say the least, that Arthur had remembered those words—and even more shocked that he had not.

One good memory.

Before he knew it, Merlin was sobbing. He didn't want to be, but he was too tired to stop it.

* * *

On the sixth day, Merlin's fever had broken, and Arthur suggested they go for a walk in the park. He claimed it would be nice to get out of the flat for a while, but Merlin suspected the true reason was because Arthur had read somewhere online that exercise was good for recovery.

It was an unseasonably warm day, and it appeared everyone in the city had Spring fever, even though Spring wasn't even perceivably close. Merlin and Arthur strolled through the walkways side by side, Merlin's arm wrapped around Arthur's waist and Arthur's hand tucked into Merlin's back pocket. They watched bright young things in shorts and colorful dresses giggle as they herded by, and they dodged zipping bicyclists along the path. At one point, a game of rugby on the lawn distracted Arthur, and they stood on the sidelines and watched for a long while, cheering loudly whenever someone scored.

At midday, they found a quiet spot next to a large tree on a hill and munched on the sandwiches they had packed, and Arthur was happy to see Merlin's appetite back. Arthur relaxed his head against the coarse trunk of the tree while Merlin rested his on Arthur's lap. While Arthur was content watching the people go by, Merlin was only interested it gazing up at Arthur, and listening to the music that drifted lazily up the hill from a guitarist down the path.

He watched the light of the sun make the edges of Arthur's hair glow, and for a moment it seemed as though it wasn't caused by the sunlight at all, but that Arthur was producing his own light. A soft pull tugged at the sides of Merlin's lips as his eyes followed the strong line of Arthur's jaw. Sometimes he could hardly believe that Arthur was really back—that he had really returned to him. Part of him thought this was some unfair dream, and soon he would wake up. It wouldn't be the first time, after all.

He reached up and touched his palm to Arthur's cheek, as though to prove to himself that Arthur would not fade from him if Merlin blinked.

"You're a vision, you know. An absolute dream," he told Arthur, and Arthur looked down at him, shocked by the rare affectionate words. "I've seen armies quake with fear and run away at the very sight of the great Arthur Pendragon, but I couldn't run from you if I tried—and I've had years of practice."

Arthur looked into his eyes for some time, and Merlin watched him as though Arthur were the only thing in color.

"You must be more feverish than I thought," Arthur said after a moment.

"Must be," Merlin agreed, but he couldn't stop smiling. At last, he felt confident enough to close his eyes.

* * *

"Merlin," he heard from somewhere far away, and he felt Arthur flattening his hair gently. "Merlin, wake up. My leg's asleep."

Merlin groaned back into consciousness and lifted his heavy eyelids to see Arthur's face come into focus, looking down at him.

He sat up slowly, rubbing his sleepy eyes. "I didn't even know I'd fallen asleep," he said groggily. "What time is it?"

Arthur consulted the watch that Merlin had gotten him for Christmas. "Fourish."

Merlin looked over at the horizon, to which the sun was hanging dangerously close to, and frowned. The sun felt good on his skin—warm, for the first time in a long time—and he didn't want it to go away.

From behind him, Arthur put his hands on Merlin's shoulders and rubbed them before snaking his arms around his chest and resting his chin on Merlin. "You're a vision, you know," he repeated back as though he had been waiting hours to do so, and Merlin could hear the smile in his tone.

He smiled, too. "What I am is knackered," he told.

"Yes, well, you haven't been getting much sleep lately."

Reluctantly, Arthur released him and stood up, brushing the loose dirt off his jeans. He offered his hand to Merlin and pulled him to his feet.

"Come on," Arthur said. "We'll make you a nice cuppa tea and put you to bed." And that sounded like a plan to Merlin.

He followed Arthur back along the path in comfortable silence, and he watched as the others in the park packed their things and slowly dwindled on home. The bicyclists had dismounted, the young girls and boys had found a party somewhere dark, and the rugby match had been long since won.

The gates of the park were in sight when Merlin spotted a small group of people huddled together next to the fountain, and right in the middle of them was—

"Shit," Merlin hissed, ducking his head and averting his eyes as though this would make him invisible.

"What?" Arthur asked with a furrowed brow. "Merlin? What are you doing—?"

"Nothing! Just—Here, let's take the long way round," Merlin tried.

"Why?"

"Because—"

"_Merlin_? Hey, man, is that you?"

Merlin closed his eyes slowly and took a deep breath, wishing with every atom of his body that he could turn back the hands of time. Sadly, he could not, so he plastered a smile onto his face and spun around.

"Alright, Jack," he said, giving a friendly nod but being sure to keep a distance from the man.

"I thought that was you," Jack said with a sideways smile. "Man, you don't look so good. You sick or somethin'?" Merlin tightened his jaw as Jack reached his hand up and placed the back of it onto Merlin's forehead. Out of the corner of his eye, Merlin saw Arthur instinctively reach for something at his side before remembering himself and instead curling his hands into balls. However, before he could do anything, Jack withdrew his hand.

"Oh, Merlin, you're burning up!"

"It's nothing. Just—just a bit ill," Merlin said quickly. "How—how are you, Jack?"

Jack shrugged and his smile flickered. "Yeah, not so good. See, money's a little tight these days. I've fallen into some serious debt recently."

Merlin feigned sympathy, but he felt his stomach clench. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Jack repeated. "You remember my mate up in Glasgow, don't you? He's not happy. Says I owe him seven-fifty—at least." He whistled, and shook his head in grief.

Merlin let out a forced laugh. "Well, I hope that all works out, then, Jack. But, uh—what can you do?"

The smile was gone from Jack's rough features now. "Yeah, what can _you_ do?"

Merlin looked around him, aware of the group of people behind Jack, all of them itching for a fight. On a normal day, Merlin was certain he could wipe them out with a single blink of the eye, but he wasn't at full power yet. He had Arthur, who was nothing short of a killing machine, but they were outnumbered. It was best to walk away. He no longer wanted Arthur in the middle of this on his account.

"Right," Merlin said, backing up and pointing his thumb vaguely towards the exit. "I'll be seeing you around."

Jack was on him in a second. He grabbed Merlin by the shirt collar and brought him in close. "Listen to me, you little shit—"

But Arthur tore Jack from Merlin and slammed him against a nearby tree. He pinned him against the thick bark with his forearm over Jack's throat, and stared at Jack hard. Merlin saw the group take a few steps forward.

"Arthur! Arthur, stop!" he pleaded, rushing to Arthur's side and placing his fingers on his arm, coaxing him into lowering it. "It's fine, Arthur, just leave it."

Jack coughed slightly and rubbed at his throat. "Merlin and Arthur, huh?" he croaked. "That's cute. Where's Excalibur, _sire_?"

Arthur searched him up and down with his nose crinkled in a scowl.

Merlin touched his arm again. "Come on, Arthur," he said softly, pulling him towards the exit. Arthur kept glaring over his shoulder as they walked.

"Who was that man, Merlin?" he demanded once they were out of earshot.

"No one," Merlin told him.

He checked behind him at the group, and Jack was watching Merlin and Arthur as they receded down the path—and he was grinning.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six.**

"She won't even speak to me—my own mum. God, it makes me so angry! But I don't blame her…"

Merlin watched the girl with his face contorted in annoyed disgust. He wasn't even trying to hide it anymore. After five stories from five different people, all of them the same as the next, he was getting fed up with this NA meeting. The only reason he had agreed to come along was because Arthur said the website promised cakes. So far, there were no cakes; only crap coffee.

He turned his head slowly to his left, where Arthur was sitting in the circle of steel folding chairs. To the untrained eye, he appeared to be listening to the girl intently—hanging on her every word—but Merlin knew him well enough to recognize that he had mentally checked out ages ago. Merlin supposed some habits were hard to shake, even the regal ones.

"This is pointless," Merlin said through the side of his mouth.

Arthur kept his eyes forward and a polite smile on his features. "Just pay attention, Merlin," he said without moving his lips and, not for the first time, Merlin wondered how he'd mastered that skill. "Maybe you'll learn something."

"You said there'd be cakes," Merlin hissed back.

"Are you always thinking about your stomach?"

"No. Right now I'm thinking of my head. I'm going to bash it in if I have to sit through another one of these stories."

Once the girl had stopped droning on, a soft spoken man started: "That's good, Janet. You're learning not to place the blame on others. Now you have to work on forgiving yourself. Only then, can your mother forgive you." The man had on a white collared shirt with the top button undone, as though to give off a relaxed "I'm just like you" look. On his feet were beige loafers that made Merlin want to scream. Upon his folded legs, he perched an open notebook that shook each time he jiggled his legs—and, for the life of him, Merlin could not figure out what the notebook was for, because the man hadn't written in it once.

He'd seen better therapists in movies, and that was saying a lot.

"Maybe one of you can help Janet?" Dr. Clarkson-But-You-Can-Call-Me-Jim said, scanning the circle. "Anyone else care to share their story tonight?"

Arthur elbowed Merlin sharply in the ribs, and Merlin shot him a hateful glare.

Across the circle, someone cleared his throat. "Uh, I will," he said, and Merlin didn't know whether to be thankful because he didn't have to speak or attempt suicide because someone else was about to.

Dr. Clarkson turned his gaze on the speaker. "James, it's good to see you back tonight. Everyone, this is James' third meeting, as some of you well know." There was a weak round of applause that made Merlin slap his palms to his face in a bout of unexplainable second-hand embarrassment.

"James, please, go on," the therapist said with a gesture of his hand to egg James on.

James looked around sheepishly, but didn't make eye contact with anyone. "Well, uh—it's my fourth week clean, and it's gettin' really hard, okay?. Most of my mates are junkies, too, yeah? And now that I can't talk to them anymore—well, I haven't got nobody, you know? I went down to the pub the other day where we all used to hang out, just to see if they were around—because I didn't just use them for drugs, alright? They really were my mates!" He sounded decidedly defensive. "Anyway, they were there, but I didn't bother them, ya see? They all seemed really pissed—about somethin' some bloke did to them or somethin'. And they were makin' plans on what to do about it, and I couldn't help thinkin'—hey, I would have been joinin' in with them, if only… I don't know. Anyway. I guess I just really miss them—"

Merlin couldn't take it anymore. His chair scrapped against the tiles as he jumped out of it, and he walked as quickly as he could to the double doors without being too obvious by breaking into a sprint. And, yes, he was aware of the surprised look Arthur gave him when he stood up, and he felt Dr. Clarkson's—if he even was a real doctor—eyes on him as he walked out; but he just couldn't sit through another ridiculous sob story.

Once in the hallway, he looked for a sign marking the way out. It pointed him down the corridor, and Merlin saw the light at the end of the tunnel. Oh, but it was so far away, and the hallway seemed to be stretching out with every step he took. Behind him, he heard the double doors open again, and he quickly ducked into the men's room as to not be seen.

Too late.

Before he could catch his breath and scour the room for a window to escape out of, the door opened and he caught Arthur's disgruntled glare in the mirror. He smiled innocently.

"Merlin, what do you think you're doing? Get back in there!"

Merlin let out a small, choked laugh. "No way! Arthur, I swear, if I hear that man speak in that condescending tone _one more time_, I'm going to turn him into a newt!"

Arthur raised a brow. "He's not that bad, Merlin."

But Merlin wasn't listening. He was in rant mode, and he started pacing like a caged animal in the small space between the ledge of sinks and the stalls. "And all those pitiful stories? Oh, boo-hoo! 'My husband left me,' 'my parents kicked me out,' 'my bloody _hamster wants nothing to do with me_'!" He registered Arthur trying to suppress an amused smirk, but he powered through. "_I don't care!_ How on Earth is this supposed to help me at all? It's not! It is designed to infuriate me."

He stopped pacing, coming to a decision. "This isn't right for me, Arthur. We'll find a different approach."

Of course, Arthur would protest. "A lot of people swear by these meetings, Merlin. You just have to keep an open mind."

"No, I have to keep down my lunch."

"Maybe if you share your story…?" Arthur offered.

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Oh, right. 'Hi, my name's _Merlin_. I'm a thousand-year-old wizard from Camelot, and I'm a heroin addict. I turned to drugs because a sword forged in a dragon's breath killed my boyfriend, King Arthur, but it's fine because he rose from the dead. He's with me now, in fact. Wave hello, Arthur.' Yes, you're right. That will go over swimmingly. They'll either think I'm mocking them and call the police or send me to an asylum."

Arthur couldn't argue. "Okay, yes. Perhaps you don't have to go _quite_ into detail—"

"_And _there are no cakes!" Somehow, that was the straw that broke the camel's back, but it didn't matter anyway because all that yelling had tired Merlin out significantly. He dropped his shoulders and let out a soft whimpering sound. "Can we go?" he whined. "I just think you and I are better off dealing with this alone."

Arthur uncrossed his arms and placed a palm on either of Merlin's shoulders. "Just please give it another chance," he begged. "Just until the meeting's over. And, if you still hate it _that_ much, we'll never come back again."

Merlin looked off and bit his bottom lip in consideration. "Will I get a prize if I do?" he asked, wriggling is brows.

"Yes," Arthur conceded. "You will get a prize."

Merlin took in a heavy breath a shook his head. "I don't know. It's not very much incentive."

A smirked played on Arthur's lips. "Then perhaps a preview?"

Merlin's eyes fell to Arthur's lips as he crowded in, and gave a small grunting sound when they slowly connected to his. It didn't take long for the kiss to get heated, or for Arthur to start groping Merlin and push him against the row of sinks.

Merlin lifted himself onto the ledge to wrap his legs around Arthur's waist, and Arthur worked on the still love bitten spot on Merlin's neck. Merlin undid Arthur's belt buckle and reached his hands down the back of his jeans.

Just as he had begun to grind against Arthur, he heard the bathroom door creak open, and both of them turned their heads, wide-eyed with glistening lips, to see Dr. Clarkson-But-You-Can-Call-Me-Jim standing frozen with his hand on the door, staring right at them but keeping his features even.

Merlin had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing, but he couldn't wipe the smirk off his face.

Arthur tried to compose himself by leaning his face away from Merlin's, attempting to overlook just how busted they were. He cleared his throat and nodded to the baffled therapist. "Good evening."

The doctor was tight lipped as he nodded back. "Evening, gentlemen. We've broken for snacks."

"Oh, right. Good," Arthur said casually. "We were wondering if there'd be any c—_akes_!" Merlin had tightened his grip on Arthur's ass, causing him to jolt forward involuntarily. He gave Merlin an exasperated glance, but Merlin kept his eyes on the therapist, his expression unchanging, as though nothing had happened.

After a beat, Dr. Clarkson closed the door and headed into one of the stalls. As soon as he disappeared into it, Arthur turned his head quickly towards Merlin and mouthed, _"Home."_

Merlin couldn't agree more.

* * *

"_HA_! Ha-ha!"

Merlin was still laughing pointedly when they walked through the door of their flat. He turned around to look at Arthur, who didn't look amused.

"Shut up, Merlin," he grumbled.

"Oh, come on! Even _you_ have to admit that was a little bit funny!" Merlin said through his laughter. "What did you say to him?" He did his best Arthur impression, "'Good evening.' Oh, you were right, Arthur: That was _fun_. We should go _every_ week!"

Arthur screwed his eyes shut. "We are _never_ going back there again."

"Oh, god! He probably thinks he's the world's worst therapist now. We've probably given him nightmares!"

"Merlin!"

"He's probably sat at home right now wondering where he went wrong. Sex—in _his_ meeting! _Can you imagine?_ He's probably thinking about resigning. Oh! Do you think _he'll_ need a therapist after tonight?"

"It's not funny," Arthur said, but he was laughing now, too. He pointed sharply at Merlin. "_You_ are a pain in my ass."

Merlin strode up to him and ran his palm down Arthur's chest. "Ooh, maybe later," he said before starting towards the kitchen and looking in the fridge.

Down to business: "Right. We haven't got anything in. We may have to run down to the shop to pick something up."

Arthur shook his head feverishly. "Oh, no! I can't show my face out in the world for at least another twenty-four hours!" he said, turning the slightest shade of pink, which Merlin found adorable.

Merlin straightened out and closed the refrigerator door. "Then I'll just have to go on my own."

Arthur's face fell. "Can't we just order some take away?"

"_No_!" Merlin insisted, as though the idea were preposterous. "We need a feast—in honor of no cakes. And defiling an NA meeting." He rejoined Arthur in the main room and wrapped his arms around him. "I'll get steaks—your favorite. And a good bottle of red."

"Mmm," Arthur said, looking down at him almost hungrily. "We can't afford a good bottle of red."

But Merlin wasn't hearing it. "We can splurge a little. Aren't you supposed to be a King? Red wine is in the job description. So, I'll do that, and in the meantime _you_ can get into something more comfortable. And, by more comfortable, I mean nothing." He planted a quick kiss on Arthur's lips.

"To the shop and back?" Arthur asked, tempted but still worried.

Merlin put one palm in the air and the other over his heart. "To the shop and back," he promised. "No stopping for anything—no side trips."

He pecked Arthur's lips again…

"Do you trust me?"

…and again.

"I trust you."

"Good. I'll be right back."

Arthur slapped his behind playfully as Merlin turned around, and Merlin softly kicked backwards at Arthur's shins. And he was out the door.

When he made it into the dark car park, he heard Arthur calling his name from above. Merlin spun around on his heels and looked at Arthur's shadow peering down at him from the fourth floor.

"We're out of gravy! Pick some up," Arthur called down. Merlin made a flourish with his hand and bowed low. This made Arthur roll his eyes and shake his head, but the slightest touch of humor tugged at the corners of his lips.

Merlin watched his silhouette disappear back down the corridor to their flat before heading off the estate.

* * *

Merlin hugged the large paper bag close to his chest, and the top blocked some of his vision as he walked towards the flat's door. He wasn't looking forward to juggling his keys and trying to maneuver the lock open; but, when he reached the door, it appeared he wouldn't have to. Arthur had left the door ajar again, which Merlin was secretly grateful for during this one occasion, whether he'd admit it or not, and he used his foot to open it fully.

"Right, I've got the steaks, and you can thank me later," he called, anchoring the door with his foot before kicking it closed behind him and starting towards the kitchen. "But they were all out of gravy, so you'll just have to make due, your majesty." He heaved the bag onto the counter and gave it an accomplished smile.

But there was no response from Arthur.

Merlin raised his brow at this. "Arthur?" he called, stepping sideways to peer out into the main room. Arthur wasn't there, and he couldn't hear Arthur milling about the flat.

He felt his breath catch in his throat, and tried to convince himself that Arthur had probably gone out for a jog—but then there was that tingling sensation in the back of Merlin's mind. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and he felt his magic build up beneath his skin, preparing itself for use.

"Arthur?" he called again, weaker this time, and headed into the main room. He turned the corner into the hallway, and what he saw knocked the wind out him.

Arthur was on the floor, one hand clutching a large kitchen knife at his side and his other over his heart. Crimson liquid trickled out of the spaces between his fingers and down from his chest, staining his clothes and pooling on the hardwood around him.

"_Arthur_!" Merlin screamed, and he was at Arthur's side in a second, his knees slipping beneath him on the blood. His heart was pounding, and he could barely think straight, and the first thing he did was cup Arthur's cheeks in his palms. Presently, he remembered the basic training that Gaius had given him, and he checked Arthur's pulse.

He was alive—but only just.

"Arthur—Arthur, come on," he pleaded, and Arthur's eyes fluttered open heavily.

"Merlin," he rasped, his voice shaking with pain.

"It's alright, it's alright," Merlin assured him, trying to keep the panic out of his tone. "I'm going to fix you." He removed Arthur's hand from over his wound, and more blood gushed out. He inspected the entry briefly. "You've been shot," he breathed, staggered, but collected himself soon enough.

He placed his palms, one on top of the other, on the wound and pressed down hard, willing all of his strength to his fingertips. With an incantation, his eyes flashed a fiery gold, and flecks of the color lingered when they faded back to their usual blue. He glanced at Arthur, but there was no change.

"No, nononono," he said, bringing his hands back to Arthur's cheeks and smearing red on their porcelain skin. He felt colder. "Not again. Stay with me, Arthur. Stay with me! I'll get you help!" His eyes started to well up as he pulled himself from Arthur's side and sprinted towards the phone, quickly dialing 999.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven.**

The surgeons had stopped him from entering the operating room and, as much as he hated it, reason told him it was better not to get in the way. Perhaps these doctors could do more than his magic could. After all, medicine had gone far in the past thousand years, and all magic had done was die away slowly. He had to believe there was something more that could be done for Arthur—something mortal—but perhaps it was just desperation.

He paced around the waiting room for hours, his hands together in front of his lips as though he were in silent prayer. There was a pit in his stomach that he felt too sick to try to fill with the stale crisps and bad coffee from the vending machines in the hall. His legs were restless each time he tried to sit down, and he could hardly speak when the police had asked him for a statement—not that he knew much anyway. They'd gone to the flat to collect evidence, and Merlin refused to leave the building until he knew Arthur was safe.

It was well past midnight by the time an intensive care doctor came into the waiting room, and Merlin noticed the worried heads of everyone else littered about the chairs swivel towards her. They looked away in devastation when she crossed to Merlin, and he felt as though all the air in the room were gone.

"He's stable," the doctor reported, and Merlin deflated in relief. "For now."

_Oh, why did she have to add that?_

"The bullet severed a number of veins to his heart, but luckily no arteries were damaged—"

"Can I see him?" Merlin asked eagerly.

The doctor pressed her lips together and gave her best professional expression of sympathy. "He's in a coma, sir," she informed Merlin after a beat.

Merlin ground his teeth together and looked away, trying to fight back his tears.

"That isn't necessarily a bad thing," the doctor tried to assure him. "I won't try to sugarcoat it for you: It could go either way, but all we can do right now is make sure he's comfortable. We'll know more when he wakes up…" But there was a strain in her voice.

"_If_ he wakes up," Merlin interpreted, but the doctor said nothing. "Can I see him?" he asked again, with more force, and it wasn't so much a question this time.

* * *

There was a steady beep of machinery that filled the room, serving as background noise along with the sporadic cough from a patient or the murmurings of staff. It was a sterile quiet, and it made Merlin feel dirty.

He was led through the maze of beds to Arthur's, and the eyes of those awake watched him go by with sadness. Arthur had just been thrown in with all these people; he didn't even get a room of his own. Merlin wanted to scream, to shake some sense into the nurse that was leading him.

This was no place for a King.

He had to stop in his tracks for a moment when he caught sight of Arthur. He was elevated halfway in the hospital bed, and they had swapped his clothes for a green gown that was half covered by a thin blanket of the same green. More beeping was coming from a machine attached to him, but Merlin didn't know which wire belonged to the heart monitor. There were too many wires and tubes plugged into Arthur to be certain.

The nurse gave Merlin a curt smile of what must have been forced support before stepping away and closing the curtains around the bed.

Merlin let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding, and made his way to Arthur's side. He brought his hand up, and it hovered uselessly over Arthur's chest. He wanted to touch him, but he was afraid he might cause more damage. So, instead, he pulled the bedside chair closer and collapsed into it.

He sat in silence for a few moments, just watching the shallow rise and fall of Arthur's chest, before leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

"You'll be alright," he said, more for his own sake than Arthur's. He didn't suppose Arthur could hear him, anyway—not really. "You _will_. I'll make sure of it—just as I've always done." He took Arthur's hand in his and laced their fingers together. "Just hang on, Arthur. Please. Don't you dare—" He couldn't bring himself to say the word.

"When you wake up, I'll teach you everything you want to know. No cliff notes this time. Promise. And you can ask any annoying questions about me as you like, you clotpole. I'll tell you everything." He felt tears collect in his eyes, but he smiled. "And I'll teach you how to ride the tube, yeah? Better: I'll show you how to drive a car. You'll love it! And we'll move out of the city, just you and me. We'll buy a farm somewhere and grow our own food—just like you always dreamed—and we'll go horseback riding every weekend. That'll make you feel at home, won't it? It'll be like the old days. And we'll go to New York. Oh, Arthur, you think London's big? Just you wait…"

He took in a shaking breath. "I know it's all my fault, and you can blame me entirely, but you can't… We're only just getting started."

His smile faded, and he was finding it difficult to swallow.

"Arthur?" he said hopefully. There was no reply. He didn't know what he was expecting, and he cursed himself inwardly for being surprised that hope had failed him.

He shut his eyes slowly, feeling silent tears escape and trail down his cheeks. For the second time in his life, a blunt force realization hit Merlin. King Arthur Pendragon may have been the stuff legends were made of, but he was no more than a man: forged of paper flesh and fragile bone. And Merlin loved him even more for it.

"Just don't—don't _die_," he whispered. "Please, don't make me do that again. I don't think I'll make it this time."

"Excuse me, sir?" came a voice from behind him, and Merlin quickly rubbed the tears from his eyes before looking over his shoulder at the nurse. "Visiting hours are over," he continued.

It took Merlin a moment to register this, but when he did he shook his head in refusal. "No, I can't leave him," he said matter-of-factly.

"I'm sorry, sir," the nurse said innocently. "We'll call you straight away if there's any change, but there's nothing you can do. We'll make sure to keep him—"

"_Comfortable_," Merlin interrupted, saying the word like it was poison. "Yeah."

He turned back to Arthur, who looked more peaceful than he had in months, and stood up.

"I'll be back soon," he promised quietly before leaning down and placing a kiss on Arthur's hairline. "I love you, you idiot," he said for Arthur's ears only. "Wake up and I'll prove it every day."

For a moment, he thought he saw the corners of Arthur's lips twitch upward, but he was probably only imagining it.

* * *

Merlin jiggled the keys inside the lock and pushed the door open, silently cursing it for not being locked when it really mattered, before stepping into the still apartment. The room seemed colder somehow as Merlin sulked through it; it felt less and less like home with every step. Eventually, he walked passed the hallway, and his eyes were attracted to the floor where he'd found Arthur. It was clean now, and there was no evidence of anyone having been there, whether it was Arthur or the police that had swarmed the apartment only hours before.

Merlin stared at the spot where he'd found Arthur and wondered what would happen to him if Arthur died. Would he live on—forced to wait for another thousand or million years for Arthur to return? Would Arthur even return again? Or would Merlin go to sleep that night and never wake up, his job finished? Or would he slowly fade away?

One thing he knew: if Arthur _did _die, he would have to take Merlin with him this time. If he didn't, Merlin would follow him—because he wouldn't do it again. He _couldn't _do it again.

Not unless Arthur asked.

After a few moments, he blinked away from the deserted scene and stepped through the darkness towards the kitchen. When he flipped the lights on, he immediately caught sight of a dirty looking man sitting at the table, drumming his fingers and waiting for Merlin; but Merlin didn't jump. His nerves were too spent.

"Jack?" he breathed, his expression puzzled. "What are you—?"

Jack brought his other hand up from underneath the table and revealed a battered looking handgun. He pointed it at Merlin, and suddenly everything became very clear. The muscles in Merlin's body relaxed all at once.

"You know, Merlin, last time we saw each other, you didn't say goodbye," Jack told him. "That really hurt my feelings, mate."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Are you going to shoot me, Jack? Because, if you're not, I could really do with a drink."

Jack gave a mirthless laugh. "Long day? Yeah, me, too. I've been living rough. Barely have two pence to rub together, me. I mentioned my friend from Glasgow, eh? Well, he's refusing to sell to me ever since you made off with half his supply." He snorted. "I mean, can you believe that?" He shot Merlin a glare.

When Merlin didn't answer, Jack reached into his jacket pocket with his free hand and pulled out a small baggie half full with heroin. Merlin couldn't help but glance at it, as much as he tried not to.

"This is all that's left," Jack said, twirling the bag around in his fingers. "Probably wouldn't even get fifty quid for it. It's useless." He balled it up and flicked it at Merlin, but Merlin didn't go to catch it and it bounced off his chest and landed at his feet. He kept his eyes on Jack.

"Why Arthur?" he said after a pause, determined not to show emotion. "Why not come after me?"

Jack shrugged. "That day in the park, he really stood up for you. So, I figured, 'Hey. This guy must be someone close to Merlin. Must be important—_more than friends_.' So, I followed you back to this dump. Looks like I was right." He grinned wickedly. "You took something precious from me, Merlin—without paying for it. And I talked to some of the other guys, and they didn't think that was very fair. See, if I can't deal, where do they go for their product? My pain is their pain. So we decided to take something precious from you."

Merlin fists tightened at his side, but his expression remained blank.

Jack leaned back in his chair, making himself at home. "I gotta say, your Arthur put up a good fight. He came after us with a _kitchen knife_, man—and he just about took a few of us down with it, too. But, you know—" He gestured with the gun pointedly. "Rock beats scissors."

Merlin watched Jack rise, still pointing the gun, and walk towards him. He stopped a few paces from Merlin. "You mind stepping aside there?" he asked, nodding towards the threshold behind Merlin's back.

Merlin sneered and regarded him hatefully, and he stepped aside after a beat. Jack shoved passed him and walked into the main room, making his way towards the front door. When he was halfway there, Merlin raised his hand and slowly curled his fingers towards his palm. Across the room, Jack froze and started gagging. He dropped his gun on the floor to clutch at his throat, and then fell to his knees.

"Surely you didn't think you could just walk out of here?" Merlin asked him, pacing towards him until he stood over Jack's crumpled form. He released his fist and Jack began to wheeze and cough up blood at Merlin's feet.

He looked up at Merlin with a mixture of terror and scorn in his eyes. "What the _fuck_, man? What are you, some kind of _freak_?" His voice was etched with fear.

"No," Merlin said. His tone was level and his eyes were dead. "I'm the greatest freak who ever walked the Earth." He knelt down next to Jack, who retracted slightly. "I've met thousands of men just like you," he continued in a near whisper. "You talk tough, and occasionally you're prone to acts of violence, but you're all the same in the end—cowards to the very core." His eyes scanned Jack up and down like he was nothing more than an ant that Merlin could easily squash. "To tell you the truth, I've grown tired of men like you, Jack."

He rested his elbow on his knee and raised his hand again, his separated fingers curled inwards.

"Whoa, alright, mate!" Jack pleaded, raising his hands in surrender. "Be cool. I didn't mean to shoot him, alright? We just wanted to rough him up, I swear! But then he came at us with the knife and I—I _freaked_! I—I'm sorry, alright? I'm sorry!"

"And I've run out of mercy."

He balled his hand slowly into a fist, not taking his eyes off Jack as he convulsed and fought for air. Merlin watched the color drain from his face and the light ebb away from his eyes.

And then a thought hit him. It was a strange thought: of King Odin, the man responsible for Uther's death. Arthur had the opportunity to kill Odin once, but Arthur spared him. He spared him because Merlin told him to.

God, he'd wandered so far away from that boy he was in Camelot. He was barely recognizable now, and it terrified him sometimes.

Some of the darkness lifted from Merlin's old eyes, and he realized at once what he was doing. This wasn't him. This wasn't the man Arthur would want him to be. For a moment, he saw Arthur's face, nobly telling him, "No, Merlin. Stop." And it brought him back to reality.

He opened his fist, and again Jack started hacking up crimson and drinking in bouts of air. Merlin reached for the man's gun, and Jack's eyes went wide and helpless at the sight, but the barrel simply melted into itself under Merlin's grip. He pressed the useless weapon into Jack's palm for him to keep—as a reminder.

"Go," Merlin told him, his voice warning. He leaned in towards Jack, so close it was almost intimate. "And if you ever come back—if you send any men here—I will not hesitate to bury you."

Merlin stood up slowly, and Jack scrambled to his feet and out the door. As soon as he was on the other side, he turned to face Merlin, collecting all of his bravado, because he had to get the last word, just as all belligerent children do.

"Yeah, I won't be the only one you're burying," he said quickly, trying not to show how scared he truly was. "Good luck planning your boyfriend's funeral!"

Merlin leveled his palm, and Jack didn't stick around long enough to see that he was only slamming the door shut.

The flat was deadly silent once more, and Merlin didn't know what to do now that he was alone. He felt tears coming on, and fruitlessly attempted to fight them back by clenching his jaw and swallowing hard. He took a few steadying breaths before stepping away from the entrance and walking towards the kitchen. He had no appetite, but he knew he should eat.

That was when his foot made contact with something soft on the floor. He looked down at the object: the smallest bit of heroin that Jack had abandoned. He stared at it for a long pause, his mouth agape and his mind blank. Blank, all but for one sentence that kept running through his head.

_Good luck planning your boyfriend's funeral._

A sob escaped him. In that moment, he was certain of Arthur's fate. Arthur was going to die—again. And Merlin was to blame. Again. It was all because of Merlin's pride, because of Merlin's decisions, because of the choices Merlin made—or didn't make. How long would they be trapped in this cycle?

Merlin collapsed to the floor and his face contorted. He let his tears flow. "Oh god, Arthur, it's all my fault!" he said through his wellaways, and his fingers clutched the plastic balloon. He stared down at it through bleary eyes.

And he tore it open.

* * *

It didn't take long for Merlin to fall back into his old habits, especially now that Arthur was gone; but at least he had more than a lake to visit this time. He sat by Arthur's bedside every day until the attendants told him he had to leave for the night, and soon all the days blended together. Sometimes he would read to Arthur—a book, a newspaper—and sometimes he would tell him a story of an adventure he had while waiting for him to return. Other times, he sat quietly, willing Arthur to come back to him.

As far as he could tell, there was little change, but eventually Arthur was transferred out of intensive care and into the coma ward, where he got his own room at least. The doctors assured Merlin that both of these were good things, but it didn't do much to boost Merlin's morale. On the plus side, the fact that Arthur had privacy now meant that Merlin wouldn't have to worry about any wandering eyes. He was able to give Arthur as much magical help as he could, and he hoped that its mixture with traditional medicine would help him to improve.

Still, he found himself holding his breath each and every day, bracing himself for the inevitable. He constantly felt as though he was walking on nails.

The drugs helped ease the pain, of course. Once the nurses kicked him out of the hospital for the night, he would run straight for his newly acquired stash, and he'd drift slowly into blissful sleep, but rarely in the bed he shared with Arthur. He couldn't bear to be in that flat anymore. Meanwhile, the days stretched on for what felt like an eternity.

And it was a Tuesday morning when he got the call.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight.**

The whitewashed corridor seemed miles long and the florescent lights nearly blinded him along the way, but Merlin moved as quickly as his feet could carry him. His heart was in his throat, and he was fairly certain this was all some surreal dream, but he eventually reached the right room.

Arthur was propped up in a sitting position by the angle of his bed, and his arm was extended towards the corner of the room as he mindlessly used the remote to scroll through daytime programming on the TV. There were significantly less wires protruding from his arms. In

fact, there was just one, connected to a clear substance, and there was a heart monitor that examined him through a node clipped to his finger. Merlin stopped short at the sight of him with an unreadable expression, hardly believing what was before his eyes.

Sensing the new presence in the room, Arthur glanced towards the doorway, and a broad smile lit up his face and, by extension, Merlin's entire world.

"Merlin," he said simply, and a smile burst onto Merlin's features. He thought his cheeks might crack under the pressure.

"Arthur, I can't—" he stammered, walking cautiously to Arthur's bedside. "I can't believe it!"

Arthur said nothing, and continued to gaze up at Merlin happily. Merlin wanted to reach out and touch him—just to prove to himself that this was real—but his eagerness betrayed him, and he ended up throwing his arms around Arthur and collapsing on top of him.

"Oh god, Arthur!" he said, his voice cracking with a short sob. Then he realized that Arthur was still connected to what must have been very important machinery—the most important machinery in the world, actually—and Merlin jumped back in a panic. "Oh god, Arthur!" he said again with more worry in his voice as he frantically scanned for any damage he may have caused. "Sorry!"

Arthur just chuckled. "It's fine, Merlin," he assured, but Merlin wasn't convinced. Off Merlin's look, he said, "Honestly! It's just an IV—full of saline, they tell me." He sat up with a grimace, and Merlin instinctively placed an outstretched palm on his back to help him. "Apart from some stiffness," Arthur went on with a grunt, "All the doctors say I'm perfectly fine. I don't even need any more-fine, apparently."

Merlin chortled and sat in the chair next to the bed. "_Morphine_, Arthur," he corrected in a bemused tone, shaking his head.

Arthur nodded in realization. "Morphine; that was it. Anyway, they can't explain it. Apparently, I should be much worse off." He flashed Merlin an infectious grin. "I suppose I have you to thank for that."

He eyed Merlin up and down, his expression suddenly solemn. "How have you been?" he asked as though he knew something was off.

"Worried sick," Merlin admitted, and he decided the fact that he'd been strung out the entire time was better left unsaid.

Arthur seemed satisfied by this. "Don't be such a girl, Merlin."

And Merlin wanted to hug him—just hold him for a long while.

"Alright," Arthur said, apparently reading his mind. He opened his arms, inviting Merlin in. "Come on."

Merlin stood up and bit his lip in hesitation, still fearful that he might ruin something; but he found a safe pathway in and laid down on his side on the small, uncomfortable mattress. He rested his head on the good side of Arthur's chest. Arthur enclosed him in his arms, and Merlin instantly felt Arthur's warmth spread over him.

They stayed that way for quite some time: Arthur apathetically watching the TV while Merlin traced the patterns of his hospital gown with his fingertips and listened to the steady thumping of Arthur's heart; until eventually a nurse came in and told them Arthur needed rest.

"I'm resting just fine!" Arthur protested, but she was having none of it, so Merlin had to quite literally extract himself from Arthur with the promise that he'd be back later. It was probably for the best, anyway.

Merlin was starting to feel jittery.

* * *

Merlin visited Arthur every moment he could, and when he wasn't physically there, he phoned Arthur at least every twenty minutes to make sure everything was okay. He made sure Arthur had enough food and that his pillows were fluffed and he generally regressed back into a servant, despite Arthur's assurance that the hospital attendants were more than capable. "Lovely," was actually the word he used to describe them. He even said one attendant sneaked him a slice of cake every now and again, which made Merlin only slightly jealous.

While he spent the majority of his day at his new job or doting on Arthur, Merlin's nights were still mainly spent ensuring he had a hit to get him through the next day. However, after a week, Arthur walked through the door of their small home, and Merlin knew sneaking away at night would suddenly become more complicated.

Merlin knew Arthur would figure him out eventually, and he suspected it would be easier if he came clean instead of Arthur catching him red handed—but he kept putting the conversation off, and wearing hoodies or long sleeved shirts so Arthur couldn't see the track marks. Arthur was still on the mend, and he didn't want to worry him, after all.

Besides, the last time Merlin had sat Arthur down to reveal a secret, he'd barely gotten Arthur to trust him again. No, that particular conversation was best left for the future.

However, Arthur's being at home didn't exactly make Merlin's life easier. As the days went on, Merlin became more and more fearful of letting Arthur out of his sight. Because Arthur needed him. He needed Merlin to protect him. That was twice now that Merlin had left Arthur alone, and he barely made it with his life either time. In fact, Merlin supposed Arthur didn't actually make it the first time, which was more incentive to not make the same mistake again.

Sometimes, he would go for full days without a fix, and Arthur would have probably relished in the knowledge of him being the reason for Merlin's depravity if he knew. Still, Merlin was determined, and he could always find time to shoot up after Arthur had fallen asleep or when Merlin would have enough confidence to report for work.

"You don't have to keep doing this, Merlin," Arthur told him one night, after Merlin refused to pick up anything for dinner if it meant leaving Arthur alone. He was always urging Merlin to do something that would take his mind off things, because it would be good for him. Merlin, however, wasn't worried about himself. "I'm really fine. The doctors even say I should be back on the pitch by next week."

"I don't care what the doctors say," Merlin replied. "They don't know what's out there. I nearly lost you once, and I won't do it again."

Arthur shook his head knowingly. "You didn't almost lose me."

Merlin let out a choking sound. "Yes, I did! How can you say that?"

"Because I know." He rested his head against the top of the sofa, staring at the wall like he could see beyond it. "I wasn't dying. That's not what death feels like."

This piqued Merlin's interest. Arthur had never talked about that day before—he had never mentioned his death, and Merlin didn't push despite all the questions constantly rolling about his mind. He stopped what he was doing and sat rigidly on the sofa next to Arthur, giving him his full attention.

"What's it like?" he nudged, not wanting to scare Arthur away from the subject.

Arthur sighed inwardly and clenched his jaw for a moment, deep in thought. "Like stumbling around in the dark," he said at last. "Searching for a candle or a torch or a light switch—the sun. Sound. Anything... But you never find it. Death doesn't happen all at once, like everyone thinks it does; it takes a while. You don't know how long your looking for the light of day, but it feels like you've been there for an eternity." Merlin hung on his every word as he watched Arthur's eyes lose focus.

"And then, finally, you stop searching—but not because you've given up or you're simply too tired to keep going," he continued. "But because everything you are starts to fade away, until you can't remember what light _is_ anymore—never mind why you were looking for it. You just become part of the black. You let it consume you entirely, and then you feel…"

"What?" Merlin prompted, perhaps too eagerly.

Arthur blinked back into the moment, and once again he was present in the room—present in the world. "I don't know," he said, more casually than before. "Nothing. And then, apparently, if you're me, it all floods back in an instant and you wake up a thousand years later on the side of a lake. It's really quite jarring. But no, this time wasn't like dying at all." He shrugged, but couldn't meet Merlin's eyes. "It just felt like sleep."

Merlin studied him for a long time, his mouth slightly open in hundreds of unspoken thoughts he could not fathom into coherent words. "Arthur, I—"

"I'm starving," Arthur cut in suddenly, slapping his palms to his knees and standing up. "We'll order in. How does Chinese sound?"

Merlin swallowed hard and nodded after a moment.

* * *

Arthur's health progressed with each passing day, and Merlin's got worse. One night, Merlin sat cross-legged on the mattress, keeping his shaking hands hidden between his thighs, as Arthur read beside quietly beside him.

"They mention you quite a lot in this, Merlin," he broke the silence suddenly, making Merlin start.

"What?" he asked in confusion before looking over his shoulder at the book cover. _Harry Potter_. Arthur had heard a lot of that series recently, and he decided one day that he was tired of not understanding the references others made. "It's not really _me_, you clotpole," Merlin told him. "It's the fake me. The legend me. The Merlin people expect."

"Well, apparently, you have an Order," Arthur teased, nudging Merlin with his knee and chuckling softly. "Talk about the blind leading the blind."

Merlin looked down at his hands. "Never thought you'd enjoy a book about a wizard so much."

"Oh, I _love_ wizards," Arthur corrected, dog-earing the page and placing the book on the nightstand.

Merlin raised a brow. "Do you?"

"No," Arthur admitted. He sat up and rested his chin on Merlin's shoulder. "Just one." Merlin couldn't help but smile sheepishly.

Arthur enveloped his arms around Merlin and began pecking at the crook of his neck, and Merlin attempted to brush him off. He knew where this was going, but he couldn't afford to take off his shirt and reveal his arms.

"You need rest," he told Arthur, but Arthur persisted.

"Mmm. I am rested."

Merlin felt his skin prickle. He couldn't resist the sounds Arthur was already making, and he figured a bit of snogging never hurt anyone. He twisted his neck around to meet Arthur's lips, and soon after he turned his whole body to face Arthur. He wrapped his arms around Arthur's neck as Arthur leaned back on the bed and began to fumble with the elastic of Merlin's boxers.

Arthur placed his hand on the small of Merlin's back and dragged the heel of his palm up and down roughly, feeling every curve of Merlin's spine. It made Merlin completely forget himself, and he reached down and tugged at the drawstrings of Arthur's sweatpants.

"Go on, then," Arthur dared him, and Merlin snaked his hand down Arthur's pants. He laughed softly as he watched Arthur's eyes roll back when Merlin wrapped his long fingers around his cock. It didn't take very long at all for him to fill out in Merlin's hand.

"We should put you in a coma more often," Merlin chuckled.

"Shut up, Merlin."

Merlin tightened his grip.

"_Mer_lin!"

"That's what you get!"

But Arthur pulled him closer as Merlin quickened his rhythm. He buried his face into Merlin's shoulder and bit at his collarbone, still making happy grunting noises—and still working his hands up the back of Merlin's shirt. He started to buck into Merlin's hand, and he grabbed at Merlin's hips and flipped them over so he was on top. Merlin let Arthur remove the cloth between them, and he ghosted his fingers gently over the scars on Arthur's chest: one from the recent bullet, and one from Mordred's sword.

His body shuttered as Arthur worked his way up and down Merlin's chest. Merlin ran his fingers through Arthur's hair as Arthur dragged his lips from Merlin's nipples to his stomach. He planted a kiss beneath Merlin's bellybutton before looking up to meet his eyes and giving a sly smile. It was enough for Merlin to know that Arthur would be putting those lips to good use.

But suddenly Arthur's eyes flashed to the side, and his brows knitted together.

"Merlin. What is that?" he asked, and Merlin's heart stopped.

Arthur sat back on his heels, and Merlin slid to a sitting position, getting as close as he could to the headboard, just to put some distance between them.

"What?" he asked dumbly, crossing his arms in a weak attempt to hide what Arthur had seen. "Nothing. It's nothing."

Arthur reached forward, and Merlin tried to swat him away, but he managed to seize one of Merlin's wrists and jerk his arm forward. His eyes went wide.

"It's just scars, Arthur," Merlin tried, but Arthur wasn't stupid. He knew the difference between old and new lacerations.

He let go of Merlin's wrist as though it were diseased. "Unbelievable," he breathed. His tone was etched in scorn and his sharp eyes didn't meet Merlin's. He got out of bed and slipped hurriedly back into his sweatpants before tucking his pillow underneath his armpit and heading for the door.

"Arthur, where are you going?" Merlin stopped him. He crawled to the side of the bed and reached for Arthur, but Arthur hit his hand away.

"To sleep on the sofa," he said answered shortly.

"Oh, come on, Arthur. Don't be ridiculous," Merlin pleaded.

Arthur raged back. "You _promised_, Merlin!"

"We'll talk about it in the morning," Merlin said softly, his eyes desperate. He attempted a smile. "Come back to bed."

Arthur raised a palm to silence him. "_Enough_," he demanded, shaking his head. "That's enough." Merlin tightened his jaw. "I can't look at you right now, Merlin," Arthur said, and he swept out of the room.

Merlin watched his shadow recede down the corridor.

* * *

The alarm clock exploded into a shower of tiny metal shards and springs. He hadn't meant to do it, but he hadn't exactly had a good night's sleep and the incessant beeping seemed like an extraordinarily violent way to wake a person up. It just kind of happened by reflex.

Merlin groaned and rolled over to reach for Arthur, but his palm connected with the cold sheets on that side of the bed. He opened his eyes and stared at the emptiness, somewhat confused. He was certain Arthur would have come to his senses some time during the night and come back to bed. Merlin tossed the covers off of himself and started towards the main room.

"Arthur?" he called sweetly, but there was no response. He turned the corner of the hallway and was met with a deserted room. The cushions of the sofa were indented from Arthur's tossing and turning, but other than that, there was no sign of him ever being there.

At once, Merlin knew something was wrong.

He raced back into the bedroom and snatched his mobile from the nightstand to phone Arthur. It rang until he got Arthur's voicemail. Cursing under his breath, Merlin tore open the dresser and found a good portion of Arthur's clothes gone. The same was true of closet, and Merlin frantically searched through his own hanging clothing for an article that belonged to Arthur. However, Arthur's trainers and gym bag had also disappeared.

"No, no, Arthur," he gasped, his mind simply refusing to believe the truth.

He rushed to the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet to find his lonely toothbrush in the holder. It made his stomach churn. Whipping out his mobile again, he punched Arthur's number. It only rang twice this time before going to voicemail.

"Arthur where are you?" he demanded, his breath catching in his throat. "Stop it now. This is ridiculous, Arthur. Don't be this way!" He took at a few steadying breaths and ran his unsteady hand through his hair. "I get it, yeah? You've made your point. Now come home." He hit the end button and set the phone down on the sink.

"He'll come back," he said aloud, but he couldn't convince himself completely.

He gripped the sides of the basin and looked at himself hard in the mirror. His black hair was a mess, and its darkness enhanced the ashy white of his skin. He glared into the sunken eyes looking back at him.

"He'll come back."

* * *

The hours passed, and Merlin didn't bother with reporting for his shift that day—not like it mattered. All that mattered was the dream of the call that never came, and Merlin cursed himself for allowing hope in.

He was feeling much more belligerent at around two in the afternoon, after he'd smoked a hit and realized Arthur wasn't going to call back. In a rage, he grabbed his mobile and hit the home button, making its background picture of he and Arthur light up. God, he hated the smiles they wore in that photo, and he wanted to destroy the phone, but instead he unlocked the screen and pounded on Arthur's contact. Again, there was no response.

"_Fuck_ you, Arthur! Answer your _goddamn_ mobile when I phone, you _prick_!" he shouted into the receiver. "What, you think you can just up and leave? Just like that? _After all I've done for you?_ Well, then you better stay gone, because I'm done! Do you hear me? I say when this is over, Arthur, and it's _over_! And you haven't even got anywhere else to go, so go fuck yourself, you supercilious dick! Good luck making it in the world without _me_!"

He really wished this had been a time before mobile phones, so he could slam the phone down to end the call, but he worked with what he had and thumbed the end button forcefully. It wasn't as satisfying, so he chucked the phone across the room with a yell.

By the evening, he was climbing the walls. His mind was racing with a cocktail of worry, guilt, and anger. After a while, the guilt won over, and he stopped his pacing and collected the phone again.

"Arthur?" he said softly after the voicemail greeting that he'd helped Arthur record ended. "Please, Arthur. Please pick up. I didn't mean anything I said; you know that." He forced a small smile onto his lips. "I'm sorry, alright? I need you. Please come home. We can talk about this. Look, just—just tell me where you are, and I'll come get you. Yeah? Whenever you're ready; I'll wait. Just, _please_." He bit his bottom lip and took in a breath. "I love you," he told Arthur before ending the call.

He hung his head in the darkness. Arthur never called back.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine.**

The pitch was emptying out, and the spectators of the losing side patted the teammates' shoulders supportively as they picked up their duffels and headed out of the park. Merlin watched the couples hold hands and rest heads on shoulders as they walked.

Arthur's team had won, which was no shock. They lost very rarely, and Merlin suspected that Arthur as their leader had more than a little to do with that. Arthur had a knack for picking and training only the best men—men who would follow Arthur into the dark as though he alone spun the globe. Merlin had seen this before, and he knew it was merely history repeating itself, as history tended to do—only now on a football field rather than a battlefield. There were a lot less casualties, and everyone laughed and got a drink afterwards, but it was the same mentality.

Arthur and his teammates filed into the park's changing area a few minutes earlier, and Merlin eagerly hovered by the door for them to come out. His hands were in his jacket pockets and he kicked at the dirt beneath his shoes as he waited, his back to the wall in the shadows. Suddenly, the metal door of the concrete shack boomed open and the group of men poured out, all them speaking merrily about the match. These were Arthur's new friends, men Merlin might have known if he hadn't been too busy getting high.

Perhaps history didn't repeat itself to a T all the time.

Merlin watched the men walk away, and his heart jumped into his throat when he turned back to the door and saw Arthur come through it, but he didn't notice Merlin standing just a few feet away. It was now or never. Merlin picked himself up from the wall and followed Arthur for a step or two before softly calling his name.

Arthur froze before turning around. "What do you want, Merlin?" he said coldly after a beat.

"To talk to you," Merlin said innocently. "It's been four days."

"Yes, and you haven't got your head in the toilet, which means four days isn't enough," was the response. Arthur readjusted the strap of his duffel on his shoulder and began to walk again.

Merlin paced after him. "I've left you a dozen messages," he said, trying to get back on topic.

"I got them."

"And you didn't phone back?"

Arthur gave no response.

"Where are you staying?" Merlin tried again. "With one of your teammates?"

Arthur gave an exasperated sigh and turned around on him, making Merlin stop short. "Merlin—"

"I just want to make sure you're being looked after," Merlin promised.

Arthur chewed on the inside of his mouth and looked off. "I'm staying above the pub down the road," he said at last.

Merlin snorted. "You're _what_? With what money?"

Arthur looked at him with distain. "With no money," he said. "The manager lives there with his wife. I told them I'd help clean after the patrons in exchange for a roof over my head. They agreed and—Why are you looking at me like that?"

Merlin couldn't help but laugh, but his eyes searched Arthur in wonder. "No, it's just—people don't do that anymore, Arthur. A room for labor? That—that's archaic. No one's that trusting!"

"Well, _they_ are," Arthur said defensively. "They're good people, Merlin. The world's not all bad, you know."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Right, like you've got _so_ much experience."

Arthur shook his head and started off again, but Merlin grabbed his arm and spun him around. "Look, Arthur, I'm not here to fight."

"Then why are you here, Merlin?"

Merlin shuffled around awkwardly. "To bring you home," he said meekly.

"No."

Merlin blinked as Arthur started off again, and Merlin had to jog to catch him up. He walked backwards briskly in front of Arthur, and Arthur tried his best to ignore him completely.

"Arthur, this is silly," Merlin reasoned. "You're doing this because of something you read on a website. What do they know?"

"Apparently, more than me."

"And what's this about working? Seriously? You? Working? I can take care of you, Arthur, like I always have."

Arthur met his eyes. "You have to take care of yourself first, Merlin."

Merlin stopped walking and Arthur shoved passed him, his shoulders in a rigid line as he tried not to look back. Merlin watched him go from over his shoulder.

* * *

For the next few days, they communicated solely through text message. Or, Merlin texted Arthur and begged him to come home or berated him to stay away, depending on how much heroin was in his system. Arthur responded only once a day, right after the sun had gone down, and it always said the same thing:

"_Please don't use tonight."_

Merlin never listened to him.

By the eighth day, Merlin had just about enough of this method of communication. He had given Arthur enough time to reconsider, and he was going to bring him home kicking and screaming if he had to.

He burst into the small pub, his eyes scanning the patrons littered about the booths as they huddled over their drinks. Arthur wasn't amongst them. Spotting the bar, Merlin trudged up to it and gripped the polished wood.

There was a roguishly handsome man of about thirty wiping the moisture off a beer glass with a damp rag. He flashed Merlin a dazzling smile. "What can I get for you?"

"I need to speak to Arthur. Where is he?" Merlin asked, getting straight to the point.

The bartender's face dropped immediately. "And who are _you_, then?"

Merlin rolled his eyes. He didn't have time for this. "Right, upstairs, then?" he guessed impatiently, pointing a finger to the ceiling. He noticed the stairwell situated behind the bartender and slid across the counter towards it.

The man grabbed his shirt. "What do you think you're doing, mate?" the man said angrily, pulling Merlin a few steps away from the stairs.

"I need to talk to Arthur," Merlin said again. He managed to fight his head into the stairwell long enough to shout, "Arthur!" He was vaguely aware that the murmuring from the other side of bar had died away, and that all attention was on him, but he didn't much care.

"Arthur's not here," the man told him.

"Bullshit," Merlin said, and considered using magic to get the man's hands off of him. "_Arthur_!"

"He's _not_," the man insisted. "Now, are you gonna go, or will I have to call the police?"

Merlin rounded on him with cold eyes. He'd been fighting for Arthur since he was a boy, and he wasn't going to stop now—especially because of some pub owner. "I could squash you like a bug," he threatened in a near-whisper, looking at the man squarely. "So I suggest you get out of my way."

"_Mer_lin!"

Both Merlin and the bartender directed their eyes to the top of the staircase, where Arthur now stood.

"Arthur, thank god," Merlin breathed as Arthur hustled down the steps. He shook himself from the bartender's hands. "Let go of me!"

"I'll get him to leave, Arthur," the bartender promised, and Merlin glared daggers at him.

"I'm sorry. Who are you supposed to be?" Merlin spat at him.

Arthur held his hand up to stop Merlin. "No, it's fine, Andy. Thank you." He looked around the room quickly, clocking all the heads that were swiveling to watch the scene unfold. He turned back to the bartender and said in a quieter tone, "I'm sorry. I'll handle this. It won't happen again."

Andy nodded and went back to work. Meanwhile, Arthur faced Merlin and shoved him towards the stairs, making Merlin stumble slightly. "Go," Arthur demanded, and Merlin didn't need to be told twice.

Arthur led him down the narrow, poorly lit hallway into the back room and closed the door behind them. Merlin surveyed his surroundings. It was a single room—small, with one dirty window. It was furnished with a twin-sized bed on a cheap headrest and a dusty dresser with an unframed mirror on top of it.

God, was this really where Arthur was living? How the mighty have fallen. Part of Merlin felt satisfied by this.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" Arthur said angrily. "Honestly, Merlin! Attacking a pub owner? You don't see _anything_ wrong with that?"

Merlin's blood boiled at the words. Why was Arthur defending this man?

"Oh, _Andy_?" Merlin said, his voice dripping with hate. "Now I see why you've decided to stay! He's got quite the grip on him, that _Andy_!"

Arthur looked scandalized. "Merlin! He has a _wife_!"

Merlin threw his head back and let out a humorless laugh. "_So did you_!"

"_Merlin_!"

But Arthur steadied himself by taking a deep breath into his hands. His eyes fell back on Merlin. "Have you been using?" he asked as though he were ripping off a band-aid.

Merlin tightened his jaw and shook his head in disbelief. "That's not why I came here."

"Have. You. Been. Using?" Arthur asked again, and Merlin could hear the punctuations.

"Of course, I've been bloody using!" Merlin shouted, throwing his arms up. "You left me flat, Arthur! What did you expect?"

Arthur folded his palms together before his lips in thought and paced towards the mattress. He sat down on the edge of it and leaned forward, but did not say anything at first. Merlin watched him curiously and, after a while, Arthur sat back.

"Don't say that to me, Merlin," he said softly.

"Say _what_?" Merlin asked between his teeth.

"That this is my fault," he clarified. "Because this _is_ my fault."

Merlin blinked at him for a moment and gaped. "_What_?" he said finally in a dumbfounded tone. He was trying to stay hostile but, truth be told, his anger was draining away. He had come to the pub to bully Arthur into coming home, and this was not at all what he expected to happen.

Arthur took in a heavy breath and fluttered his hand in Merlin's direction. "I blame myself for what's happened to you," he said. "For what you are."

Merlin couldn't believe his ears. "Arthur, no. It's not—this isn't your fault."

"Yes, it is! I'm just trying to help but—It's my fault to begin with." His eyes were red when he looked back up. "You were here so long, waiting for me. And look what it's done to you. If I only I had trusted you more… If only I didn't make it so hard for you to tell me who you really are… Then maybe—" He rubbed at his eyes.

"No, Arthur," Merlin said softly. He sat closely next to Arthur on the bed. "It was _my _decision. _My_ destiny. I'm the one who went to the Crystal Cave—"

"Because of _me_," Arthur cut him off, and Merlin had no way of denying it. Arthur hung his head. "I'm sorry, Merlin."

Merlin shook his head. "You have nothing—"

Arthur interrupted him by pressing his lips to Merlin's, kissing him desperately through soft whimpers. At once, Merlin realized just how much he had missed Arthur. Arthur felt warm. And safe.

After a while, Arthur broke the kiss for air, and Merlin leaned his forehead against Arthur's as they breathed each other in. Merlin pecked at Arthur's lips a few times before Arthur cradled Merlin's cheeks in his hands and deepened the kiss.

Merlin placed a hand on top of Arthur's and dragged him down to the mattress.

* * *

The sunlight streamed through the window and woke Merlin up slowly. He felt warm as he shook the sleep from his head and stretched his limbs. He rolled over to face Arthur, having to curl up close to him because the bed was so small—not that Merlin was complaining. The morning rays of light kissed Arthur's skin and made it almost glow.

"Good morning," Merlin said groggily, and he smiled blissfully. He was certain that almost everyone in the pub the previous night was aware just how good of a morning it was for Merlin, and he was shocked Andy, or whatever his name was, didn't come round in the middle of the night to complain about all the noise.

He pressed a kiss on Arthur's bare chest before looking up at him through his eyelashes. Arthur didn't respond. His arms were crossed behind his head and he stared up blankly at the ceiling, and Merlin glanced upwards a few times just to see what above them proved to be so interesting. As far as he could tell, there was nothing.

He wrapped himself around Arthur, hooking his arms around his waist and anchoring a foot on Arthur's ankle, and pressed himself closer to the strong line of Arthur's side.

"You know, we have a much more comfortable mattress at home," he said, and placed more kisses on Arthur's body. "So, what do you say, hmm? Let's go back there. I haven't got a shift today. We can stay in bed all day—just like we used to." He kissed Arthur's jaw line. "Say yes."

Arthur took in a heavy breath that caught Merlin's attention.

"Merlin," he started. "Last night—It was a mistake."

Merlin dragged his finger in circles on Arthur's chest. "Well, then it was a mistake we made three times."

"You know what I mean," Arthur snapped.

Merlin stopped what he was doing and propped himself up on his elbow, the smile suddenly off his face. "No, I don't," he said, his eyes flashing. "What _do_ you mean?"

"I mean, I can't keep doing this," he said, mustering all his strength and finally looking Merlin in the eyes. "As much as it pains me, Merlin, we can't be together—not until you figure out what it is you want."

"I _know_ what I want," Merlin told him. "You. It's always been you."

"And to be high," Arthur reminded him. "But which do you want more?"

Merlin opened his mouth, but did not answer, so Arthur sat up.

"You'd better go, Merlin," he said, nodding to the door.

"But, Arthur—"

"_Please_," Arthur begged.

Merlin didn't know what to say. He stared at the hard line of Arthur's jaw for a long moment until eventually shaking his head and sliding out from under the covers. He didn't want to leave Arthur, so he dressed as slowly as he could, his eyes watching Arthur the entire time; but Arthur kept his gaze on his hands.

When he had no other excuse to stay, he crossed to Arthur's side and lingered before him. Arthur didn't look up.

"You'll call—if you change your mind?" Merlin asked haplessly. He nodded, trying to assure himself. "You'll call?"

Merlin saw the muscles of Arthur's jaw tighten in repose.

He leaned down and planted a kiss on Arthur's cheek, wondering if he should push his luck and go for the lips; but he decided against it. It was best to give Arthur space to think.

On his way out, he looked over his shoulder at Arthur, wishing so desperately that he would change his mind and invite Merlin back to bed. Merlin held his breath, but it never came; and he exited without another word.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten.**

Merlin's eyes scanned the bedroom until they eventually fell on the mattress. It was made—barely a crease on it, and the curtain was open to let the sun warm the sheets and pillows. Then he left the room, stopping briefly in the bathroom to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything like a toothbrush or a shaving blade or any of those silly little essentials that people too often take for granted and end up forgetting to take with them. But the medicine cabinet was completely wiped clean, save for a few bottles of pain relievers and a box of condoms.

As he walked down the hallway, he dragged the tips of his fingers along the wall, subconsciously pressing his palm to the spot he and Arthur had sex against not long along. And he was careful not to step on the floorboards that were still covered with fresh crimson in his imagination.

The kitchen was fine, too. He'd double and triple-checked, that way he wouldn't have to worry into the nights whether or not he had accidentally left the kettle on or the oven running.

Once in the main room, he hovered over the coffee table, readjusting the small folded piece of paper he had placed on its surface earlier so it was presented just right. He then reached into his pocket and produced his mobile; he situated it next to the paper.

Finally, Merlin headed towards the exit and took his leather jacket off the coat rack, noticing sadly that Arthur's still wasn't hanging beside his. He sighed heavily as he slipped into the jacket, tracing the room with his eyes one more time: it's framed pictures, mixed-matched furniture, cluttered corners. This place had been home for so long, but now it felt strange and unwelcoming—like he didn't belong.

He reached down towards his ancient rucksack and slung it over his shoulder, and Merlin left the flat behind.

* * *

He stepped into the flat for the first time in nearly a month, and he closed the door behind him. The room before him was still, and particles of dust were swimming in the rays of sunlight that shone through the window before collecting on the disused furniture.

Arthur cocked his head slightly to the side. He hadn't heard from Merlin for a week and a half now, and it seemed as though he hadn't been home in all that time. He was starting to worry.

"Merlin?" he called out, but was answered only by the silence.

His footsteps echoed slightly as he walked through the flat, checking the empty kitchen, the deserted bathroom, and the bedroom with the neat bed that didn't look like it had been slept in for some time. He pulled out his mobile and tapped on Merlin's number in his contact list.

There was a beat before he heard the familiar jingle of Merlin's ringtone sound from down the corridor, and Arthur followed the song into the main room, where he spotted Merlin's abandoned mobile dancing under its own vibrations on the coffee table. He killed the call.

Arthur padded towards the table and plopped down on the sofa before it, surveying the contents of the tabletop: a few magazines, the remote control, an old tea mug—the usual suspects. However, in the dead center of the table, next to Merlin's mobile, was folded piece of paper on which a single letter was written and underlined in Merlin's hand.

_A._

Arthur picked up the delicate sheet and turned it over in his hands a few times, a pit forming in his stomach.

"Where have you gone, Merlin?" he murmured, wondering if he would ever get an answer. If Merlin didn't want to be found, Arthur knew he couldn't be.

Curiosity pounded at his mind, mixed with fragments of fear and dread, and he blew his cheeks out in trepidation before unfolding the letter.

"_A—_

_I don't know how long it will take you to return home, and I may be long gone by the time you read this. Part of me dreams you'll burst through the door as I write this, to stop me. You've always stopped me, Arthur; you've always made me think. Understand, I know whom it was who shot you—and I pray you can forgive me for that. In my guilt, I nearly murdered him, but I knew that wasn't the man you'd want me to be. I wanted to kill him; I still do. I've never been as noble as you, Arthur. But you brought me back._

_I am a ghost of the Merlin you knew all those years ago, but do not blame yourself for what I've become. For I would have waited for you for a thousand more years—and then a thousand more, without end. I was made for it, and even if it weren't my destiny, I would choose it. I would choose you, every time. I would do anything for you, Arthur, but there are some things I must do for myself. This is one of them._

_So, I'm leaving the city. I do not know where I will go or when I'll return, but I will return a better man—a man you deserve. Maybe I will seek out the help I need, and again become a man you recognize. Perhaps one day I can resemble the boy you knew from Ealdor: The boy who found a home in Camelot. In you._

_Or perhaps I am broken beyond repair, but I am starting to believe in myself again, because you believe in me. Maybe that's enough. I hope it is. I hope…_

_And I hope, my old friend, this time you will wait for me._

_Yours, until the day I die,_

_M."_

Arthur read the note over and over until he memorized every word, every punctuation, every falter in the curves of the letters. Finally, he sat back on the sofa, leaning to the side and curling his fingers in front of his lips in a thought so deep that eventually his mind became blank. He stared into the silence, which stretched on for he knew not how long, and it stared back.

And Arthur Pendragon waited.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven.**

_Six months later._

Merlin closed his overfull rucksack, a feat that might have been impossible had he not cheated the laws of physics ever so slightly. Honestly, he didn't have that much: clothes, a few essentials, and some other things he had picked up along the way—basically anything he could carry on his back, which wasn't too difficult. Many years had gotten him accustomed to traveling light.

There was a soft knock of knuckles on the door, and Merlin glanced up, expecting to find a doctor or a smiling attendant wanting to give him words of wisdom before seeing him off—but who he saw instead, he did not expect.

"Arthur." He blinked a few times at the figure in the doorway. "You're here," was all his blank mind came up with.

Arthur seemed confused for a moment. "Of course I am," he said after collecting himself, but he seemed unsure. "The—the doctor phoned me to come pick you up. Is this the wrong day?"

"No!" Of course, Merlin knew that the doctors would call Arthur. He'd put him as his contact, after all. Well, it wasn't as though he had anyone else in the world, and he wondered briefly if the same was still true for Arthur.

He eyed Arthur up and down, taking him in. He was tanner than he was half a year ago, and he seemed thinner, but Merlin couldn't be sure.

"It's just… I didn't think you'd come," Merlin said sheepishly, and a little sadly. "Not that I would blame you. I—"

"Merlin," Arthur interrupted, and it had been so long since Merlin heard him speak his name. No one said it quite like Arthur, and it was almost as though the word were meant for Arthur and Arthur alone. It sounded like a dream to Merlin.

Arthur took a few steps into the room. "I wouldn't have missed this for anything."

Merlin blushed softly at the tiles of the floor before again meeting Arthur's bright blue eyes. "How have you been?" he wondered aloud, his stomach bunching with nerves in anticipation of the answer.

Arthur shrugged like he couldn't complain.

"Still working at the pub?" Merlin probed.

"Mmm. I'm bartending now," Arthur told him, "Andy and Lucy have been good to me."

"That's great!" Merlin said, feeling genuinely happy, even if his tone was forced.

Arthur didn't notice. "Yeah, and I'm coaching football for one of the primary school teams," he said.

Merlin's eyebrows darted to his hairline. "Yeah?"

He nodded, looking proud of himself. "Well, one of my mates from the pub league—Kevin—is a teacher, and they needed a new coach. Said he couldn't think of anyone better for the job."

Merlin smiled at him. "I'm happy for you, Arthur," he said, and he meant it, but: "Looks like you don't need me, after all." He played it off with a half-laugh.

Arthur's smile faltered. "I'll always need you, Merlin," he promised, and Merlin didn't know what to say.

After a pause, Arthur continued, "But what about you? Rehab. That's a big step."

Merlin shuffled around a bit. "Took me long enough to get here," he said modestly, but Arthur wasn't hearing any of it. Thankfully, he didn't question Merlin about any of his adventures prior to coming to the clinic—or, at least, he didn't yet.

"But you are here," Arthur said. "That was very brave, Merlin."

In truth, Merlin did feel brave, but not because he'd kicked heroin. That was nothing in the grand scheme of things. But, for the first time in as long as he could remember, he had done something for himself—not for Arthur. He had lived for himself. It felt like a beginning, and he'd forgotten what that was like. He'd known only ends for much too long.

Merlin looked up at him with red eyes, and he saw Arthur swallow passed a lump in his throat.

"Oh god, Arthur," he said, his voice cracking. "Get over here, you dollophead!"

They closed the space between them and wrapped their arms around each other tighter than they ever had. Neither of them ever wanted to let go, so they silently promised each other that, from that moment on, they never would again.

"I've missed you," Arthur whispered into his hair, and Merlin buried his face into Arthur's shoulder. Arthur's scent instantly filled his mind, and he felt warmer somehow.

He closed his eyes into the smell, enjoying the contact. "I've missed you, too," he admitted.

When the hug broke, Arthur was smiling from ear to ear, and it was infectious. The entire room seemed light up, and Merlin swore the sun peaked through the clouds outside the window—all because of Arthur's grin.

Because, when he smiled, he shined.

"What do you say we get you out of here?" Arthur offered, and he picked up Merlin's pack and threw the strap over his shoulder. His face contorted somewhat with the unexpected weight.

"Oh, no, Arthur, don't," Merlin said, going for the pack. "It's heavy. I'll carry—"

But Arthur maneuvered away from him sharply. "No, I'm carrying it!" he said, perhaps more forcefully than he'd intended. Merlin raised is palms and backed away in mock surrender, but he couldn't stop himself from chuckling. There was a time when Arthur left Merlin with all the bags.

Arthur seemed satisfied, so Merlin lowered his hands. "So… Home?" he asked hopefully.

Arthur nodded. "Home," he confirmed. "But not just yet. We have an appointment first. We're meeting a man about a house outside the city." He searched Merlin's features hopefully.

A real home, all of their own, with the city twinkling in their rearview mirror. Somewhere quiet and green, with a mortgage and stars above their heads at night; and lazy Sundays when they don't know what to do with themselves, so they stay in bed all day; and annoying neighbors with yappy dogs and too many kids piled into their gigantic minivans. And Arthur.

That didn't sound half bad to Merlin. Perhaps it was time to fall in love with the world again.

"Besides," Arthur said, beaming. "It's like you said: We're only just getting started."


	12. Epilogue

**Epilogue.**

Merlin stood in the deserted car park with his fists stuffed into his jacket pockets, shuffling around in his shoes. He always got jittery at this time of the day.

He felt a vibration go off next to his fingers and pulled out his phone. It was a text from Arthur:

"_Come straight home."_

Merlin rolled his eyes. Arthur worried too much, although he supposed he had reason to.

A car drove by cautiously, and Merlin turned around to register it, just in time to catch his reflection in the tinted glass windows before they passed. He smiled softly at what he had just seen. He'd aged quite a bit over the past eight years—aged with Arthur—and he knew deep down that this would be the last time he ever would. Merlin looked down at his shoes. It was a strange kind of sad, an almost bittersweet feeling: He'd walked this Earth for over a thousand years, and suddenly there wasn't enough time.

He had one lifetime left, and he knew he'd better make it count.

A muffled bell sounded in the distance, and after a few moments, hundreds of children stampeded through the doors of the school, some of them chatting as they found their buses, some climbing into the various Subarus and minivans that lined the street, and some older ones scampering off home on their own two feet. Amongst the crowd of little ones, Merlin spotted a head of raven hair, and waved at the boy to whom it belonged. The boy dimpled back, waved goodbye to his friends, and ran up to Merlin happily.

"Hi, Papa!" he called, and Merlin knelt down so the boy could run into his embrace. After the hug broke, Merlin ruffled the boy's hair and looked up into his big green eyes. Green, a color given to him by his surrogate mother, Lucy—Andy's wife. As it turns out, Arthur was right: There were still good people in the world.

"Alright, Will," Merlin said. "How was school?"

Will shrugged passively, and Merlin chuckled before standing to full height.

"Where's Amelia?" Will wondered.

Amelia: their two-year-old princess. Secretly, Merlin was happy that she hadn't inherited any of Lucy's traits. He loved her golden hair and eyes bluer than he'd ever seen—like her father. In fact, Arthur was probably leaning over her play pin and making funny faces at her as they spoke. Merlin didn't blame him, either. The child was beautiful—truly the daughter of Kings—and, boy, would they have their hands full when she became a teenager.

"At home—with Daddy."

Will's eyes lit up. "Daddy's home!"

Merlin nodded as he took Will's hand and started for the pavements. "Yup. He took the day off. They're waiting for us." As they turned the corner towards the row of houses, Merlin asked, "What did you do today?"

Will frowned and looked away sheepishly, and Merlin felt his heart drop.

"Will?" he said, suddenly stern.

"It wasn't my fault!" Will said quickly. "We were learning about fairytales in class today, and you were in one of them, Papa—you and Daddy. And I told Miss Marie that it wasn't a fairytale. You're real! But she wouldn't listen."

Merlin raised a brow. "And?"

Will looked down at his feet. "And she said Daddy was married to some _lady_."

"Did she?"

"Yeah! And I got real cross and—well. I accidentally made a window explode," he said quietly, and then, "But no one saw me! I promise. Miss Marie said someone must have thrown a rock in it." Suddenly, he smiled slyly. "It was really cool, Papa."

Merlin shook his head and tried not to grin. He remembered what it was like, being so young and not yet able to grasp his abilities. He had no one to help him, and he would make sure Will's upbringing would be different.

"We have to teach you how to control those outbursts," Merlin muttered to himself. He gave his son's arm a jiggle and squeezed his hand. "Don't argue with your teacher, yeah? She's doing her best."

"But—"

"All those stories you're learning—about Daddy and me—they happened a long time ago, alright? People have gotten some things wrong." He rolled his eyes. "Some people have made up things entirely! But you'll have to look passed them, because we know the truth, yeah?" He put a finger to his lips. "And it's our little secret."

"_Papa_," Will said lyrically, and rolled his eyes, too. "_I_ don't know the truth—not all of it. Will you tell me what _really _happened?"

Merlin frowned in thought and nodded his head. "I will. When you're older."

"You always say that," Will grumbled.

Merlin grinned down at him and he unlatched the gate to their front garden.

"Trust me, son, it's a long story."

**THE END.**


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